


Unreal.

by scottandstiless



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5 Stages of Grief, AU, Alcohol, Alcoholic Sheriff, Alpha Derek, Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Crying, Darach - Freeform, Delusions, Denial, Depression, Derek Has Issues, Dread Doctors - Freeform, Eichen | Echo House, F/M, Fainting, Gen, Hallucinations, High School, Hospital, Hospitalization, Hurt Stiles, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Kanima, Malia is in Eichen House, Medication, Melissa and Sheriff feels, Mental Health Issues, Mental Illness, Minor Melissa McCall/Sheriff Stilinski, Mountain Lion Attack, Nogitsune, None of this is real, Not Dementia, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Schizophrenia, Scott Death, Scott Dies, Scott was killed, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is Noah, Sick Fic, Stiles Goes to Eichen, Stiles has a mental illness, Stiles is mentally ill, Stiles' mom is dead, Stiles-centric, Suicidal Thoughts, Tests, The Alpha - Freeform, The Benefactor - Freeform, There is no pack, Tumblr AU, Violence, Violent, WereCoyote, Werewolf, Werewolves, banshee - Freeform, eichen house, schizophrenic Stiles, sick!stiles, stiles is crazy, tremors - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-01-04 13:30:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12169848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scottandstiless/pseuds/scottandstiless
Summary: Based on a tumblr post I've seen, and seeing as tomorrow is the series finale, it just made sense:"I've always had this idea that in the series finale of teen wolf, we will hear doctors talking, and then when the screen comes into view, we see a folder with the full first name and middle/last name of Stiles Stilinski.And then we find out that these entire past 5 seasons, Stiles has been in a mental institution, imagining the supernatural creatures and events to help himself cope with the fact that his best friend, Scott McCall, was mauled and killed by a mountain lion in the sophomore year of high school."





	1. I'm Crazy.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Ive been thinking about this prompt for quite some time, so I hope y'all enjoy, and for what it was- Teen Wolf had a great era. I apologize that the first chapter is so short and confusing, but the chapters after will all explain!
> 
> Disclaimer: i have no rights and do not own any of the characters, plot, or any aspect of the show and the sole rights go to the show creator, Jeff Davis.

The smell of ammonia lingered in the air, going up through the boy’s nostrils enough to make him anguished. The sound of the wheels creaking and rolling in the halls irked his eardrums, and the way everyone talked in this damn place drove him insane- with their “relax”’s and “calm down”s. But of course, he was the only insane one. 

“Another visit to patient 218 this morning, Mr. Hale?” The woman at the reception desk pondered, staring at the man with the thick black hair and the striking blue eyes. She had asked him to take off his belt and remove his wallet and phone, watching him put it all into a bin with his name on it. 

“Funny how you refer to the as patients but yet still call them by numbers.” He muttered under his breath with a faux grin at her. Her face reddened. “His name is Miecyzslaw Stilinski. And yes. I am.”

“Thank you.” She took the articles without looking at him. She opened her mouth as if to say something but the brooding man beat her to it.

“I know the room.”

Derek Hale is a common person of interest in this town. Everyone knows him, whether it’s from the fire, or it’s from the sheriff’s station. But he wasn’t interested in anyone else the way he was with Stiles Stilinski. After all- if Derek wasn’t there that night, maybe both of them would be dead.

He was greeted by two hall monitors who let Derek into the room as a doctor had just come out. 

“Ah, Mr. Hale, good morning. I’d let you see your friend but- he had an episode earlier and I don’t thin-”

“Please, Dr. Hunt, I just want to talk to him.” Derek pleaded. 

The doctor sighed, “an hour- and you’re out of here.” 

Derek smiled, letting himself in, only to find Stiles Stilinski curled up underneath a blanket on his side on the bed. It was ten in the morning. Stiles is usually out of bed by eight. 

“Go away.” Derek heard a small rebuttle.

“Stiles..”

“Go away! I don’t want you here.”

“Stiles I just wanted to talk. Why not?” Derek sat on the opposite side of the room, just like how Stiles likes it.

“Because. I don’t know if you’re real or not and I don’t want you to some freaking figment of my imagination.” Stiles whispered quietly. 

Derek perked up for a second. He could tell Stiles had been crying. “Wait- you aren’t seeing Scott anymore?”

Stiles sat up against the wall reluctantly, but slowly. His eyes looked tired a puffy, and he looked a little thinner, especially with the more promienent look of his cheek bones now. “I told him to leave. And he left.” He stopped before looking down and watched how the lines on the creases of his fingers completely encompassed his hand. “I didn’t want to do it anymore.”

“Do what?”

“You know what.” Stiles did that thing where he cautiously looked around him so his eyes wouldn’t meet Derek’s.

“Tell me.”

“Didn’t want to deal with it anymore. So I told him to leave.”

“Stiles- what happened this morning?” Derek was slowly getting closer to the teenager.

“The doctors told me I needed to stop pretending. That it was hurting everyone I loved. The stories. So they made me make Scott leave. And I tried not to get angry Derek, I swear..” The young man was tearing up as Derek stared at his frame. He couldn’t help but look at the name tag wrapped around his wrist. “Then they tried to make me drink this shitty stuff and I started crying and-”

“It’s okay.” Derek signalled him to stop, knowing it was hurting as he came to embrace him in a hug, but Stiles had stopped him. 

“Please don’t touch me.” He whispered. Stiles’ hands were covering his face. “I don’t wanna be here anymore.” His body shifted to the point where he collapsed on his side onto the bed. “I’m losing my mind, okay? I’ve been losing it for years. So just- just go away.”

“Stiles I’m here. And I’m real. Maybe not the way you think but- this is me. I’m human, flesh and bones, and I’m real. I swear on my life.” Derek held his hand up as he spoke with a tender tone, “you see? 5 fingers.”

“I’m crazy, Derek. And not in a fun way. In a seriously can’t-grasp-reality way. In a I-think-you’re-a-werewolf kind of way and I don’t know how to stop it.”

Derek sat next to Stiles on the bed. “It’s okay.” 

They both sat there for the rest of the morning. They didn’t have to say anything. It was enough.


	2. 2 Years Ago

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one! Sorry dudes- next one will definitely be longer.

One. two. Three.

One. 

Two.   
One.

One foot, in front of the other. Each step had to be counted. One, after the other. It bothered Stiles’ how his converse got dirty, and he noticed the gradual darkening every time he went to count his steps. “I hate it Scott, these shoes drive me crazy.”

Scott was sitting across from Stiles’ bed, watching his best friend pace. “So why are we doing this again?” 

“I told you- after I wake up every morning, I have to step exactly thirty-seven steps before I go for breakfast, or else I’m pretty sure the sun won’t rise tomorrow.” Stiles counted as he stepped, watching the way his feet responded after his brain sent signals to his nerves. 

“You’re crazy dude.”

“Says the werewolf- stop talking you’re gonna make me lose count- I’m at 29.” Stiles scolded him, watching Scott yawn as he finished up.

30\. 31. 32. 

“So is it like good luck or something? Like football players do rituals before a game?”

The teen scoffed, “No man, look I just have to. Okay? It’s just something I like to do. I feel like if I don’t, then something bad will happen.”

33\. 34. 35. 36. 37.

“Finally! Let’s go get some grub.” Scott pounced off the bed, before Stiles stopped before his door when his father came over. 

“Stiles?” He had a concerned but clustered look on his face.

“Morning Dad.”

“Are you- are you okay son?” Noah asked quietly.

“Yeah.. why wouldn’t I be?” Stiles looked at Scott, then back to his dad.

“You were talking as if Scott was with you, son.”

“Dad he’s right he-” Stiles looked back again. 

Scott had disappeared. “What the hell?” Stiles whispered.

“Stiles… Scott’s not here anymore. You know that.”

Stiles froze. 

That’s how this all started. This hell of a mess. It all started when a certain someone with a certain hyperactive brain who also happened to be the son of the sheriff took his best friend out to the woods one night. 

At this point, Stiles couldn’t breathe- he couldn’t think- he couldn’t do anything. His hands were still clenched in fists from when he started to punch the wall. His cheeks were still tinted red from exasperation. Somehow, Stiles ended up on the floor, held back by his father who held him by the chest with full arms wrapped around as he gave him words of comfort. “Breathe kid- I know- it’s okay, just relax. In through your nose, out through your mouth,” When Stiles calmed down from what felt like an actual heart attack, the puzzle pieces were starting to get put together. 

“Scott passed- right Stiles? We went to the funeral. You remember?” 

Stiles nodded. “Right.”

“It’s screwed up and not fair and I know it hurts like hell kid but… Scott’s not with us anymore. He’s in a better place right?”

“Right.”

“It was an attack. Remember? No person hurt Scott- it was an animal, right?”

“Right.” 

Right.

He was calm now, he was breathing, he was alive. 

“Okay- so you want to go back to bed buddy? You don’t have to go to school today.”

Stiles nodded. The sheriff didn’t let go of his son’s arms until he was one-hundred percent relaxed. He took his thumbs to Stiles’ face, wiping the tears off his cheeks. He helped him back up and into his bed, tucking in the blankets and letting him know to call if he wasn’t feeling good.   
The sheriff sighed. He knew something was about to unleash hell into the sixteen year old’s brain. He’s even stopped drinking, a week sober so far, because he knew he had to be there for Stiles, unlike how he has been for the last eight years. 

Because it’s been two days since the death of Scott McCall, since he was gruesomely murdered by a mountain lion in the woods.


	3. Can't-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back with a new chapter! hope you all enjoy! sorry its short again, i procrastinated.

“He went to school today. Something about being in his room too much reminded him of Scott.” The sheriff said, speaking to Melissa McCall on the phone. It was too hard to even say the poor boy’s name, it carried so much weight and so much meaning on the tip of his tongue. Paining him physically, Noah explained the events of yesterday and of Stiles’ decision to go to class this morning. “It was horrifying Melissa..”

“You don’t think it’s..” Melissa suggested with the soft tone of hers. She’s been holding up pretty okay, because how okay can you be if you just lost your one and only son?

“It’s too early to make any guesses.” Noah said quietly, rubbing his brow. “Anyways, I gotta go, I’ll see you soon.”

The next time Noah would pick up the phone would be to answer the Beacon Hills high school nurse.

They had called over Stiles having a severe panic attack, saying it’s an emergency and he should come immediately. So with the lack of the sirens, the sheriff found himself almost-speeding down the freeway with his truck at 11 in the morning to find his son sitting on the ground, professing he was dying.

“Ican’tbreatheIcan’tbreatheican’tbreathe,” was all Stiles could wheeze out of himself. He was clutching his shirt over where his heart was, his other hand clutched by the school nurse who was trying to call him down. Palpitations and nervous sweats broke him as he cried out, “i w-wwant my d-dad!” Stiles was crying, face as red as a tomato as he could physcially feel his body temperature rising. “I w-want my dad!” He repeated, fingernails digging into his skin through the fabric of his shirt. Stiles took his hands to his face, covering up his tears and hyperventilation as he lost all self-control. He swore he was dying. 

“Stiles- honey, take slow, deep breaths.” The sweet nurse rubbed his back with soothing circular motions. The young man silently cried clutching his chest and drawing out hiccups of breath until his father walked in. 

“Stiles-” Noah had found him immediately, going straight to him and sitting down besides him. “Hey...hey kid.” The father wrapped his fingers around Stiles’, giving him a tight squeeze. “Stiles listen to me. Nothing is going to hurt you okay?” Noah whispered, watching the teenager’s fingers tremble. “Nothing is going to touch you- and you aren’t going to die. I promise you.” Because with anxiety, comes fear of everything, paranoia, and the overwhelming feeling of your death’s arrival. “It’s okay bud, you’re okay. You’re doing great. Deep breaths.” Noah reminded him when Stiles’ breath hitched again few moments later.

A few minutes of pure silence lasted. Because Noah knew Stiles likes some time to himself.

“Kid you good?” The older man asked.

“I’m good.” His son whispered back. 

“What do you wanna do?- do you feel dizzy?”

“I wanna go home.”

Noah mouthed the word, “okay.”

Stiles was helped to his dad’s car, for they feared a dizzy spell would tumble him down. He zeroed in his focus into his father and the nurse’s conversation, until suddenly he heard a tapping on the window opposite to him. 

“Dude you okay?” Scott said as he opened the car door and let himself in, sitting in the driver’s seat. 

Stiles took a shuddering breath, rubbing his face by dragging his hand down it. “Yeah- yeah i’m fine, in fact i’m doing great, so great.” He exaggerated his facial expressions in attempt to further his sarcasm. 

“That was really scary to watch Stiles. You scared me.” Scott admitted.

“No one invited you to watch anyways.” Stiles muttered under his breath.

“Hey-” Scott remarked with a stern tone, “what’s going on?”

“I was just nervous is all- It’s been.. Kinda hard lately.” The boy watched his friend speak with tapping fingers and twiddling thumbs.

“Dude- one minute we are taking notes,the next minute you’re freaking out in Coach’s class…Just hang on. You’re gonna make it. I promise.” Stiles heard Scott say as he turned away and looked at his dad through the window, watching him walk towards the car. Thinking back at what just happened, besides the whole freaking-out part, Stiles still had a lousy day. It had been mixed with whispers and pointing in the halls, but also consisted of students he’s never talked to offering their condolences to him. It didn’t suck so bad when you knew you weren’t the only one feeling this pain. A raw feeling bit at him in his stomach. 

“I don’t know Scotty- I’m losing my shit.” And when Stiles turned back to face his best friend, Scott had disappeared. 

Stiles stared off into the distance in front of him, only to be brought back to Earth by the slamming of the door from the sheriff as he got in. He drew out one long sigh.

“I’m sorry.” A meek sound came out from Stiles.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about or ashamed of son,” his father reassured him. He stopped for a second, clicking his tongue. “You know you can talk to me,” a sudden release of seriousness displayed his tone more as sympathetic, “but I mean, I think it’s in your best interest to see someone buddy.”

“Dad, I’m not going to therapy.”

“I’m just saying it would be beneficial.. If you stay like this- all pent up-” Noah glanced at him as he drove, “one day you’re going to break and I’m not sure if we would be able to piece you back together.”

“I’m just-” Stiles paused for a moment, “god- fuck, I see him dad. Everywhere I go, in everything I do. And It scares me to hell. I keep telling myself he’s not dead- he’s not dead but.. It hurts to think about it.” Noah felt something around his heart, as if a certain pain he had archived away years ago had been stimulated again.

“I know son, I know.”


	4. Wolfsbane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the story being rather slow, but after this chapter I swear things will pick up.

After such a long day, all Noah wanted was a good night’s sleep. First of course- he had to make sure Stiles had been okay. He crept into the room, finding his boy sound asleep with his sheets up to his nose. It had looked like there were stains- tear stains on them. The sheriff sighed, returning back to his room and drifting into a worriless slumber.

But little did he know, Stiles was closing his eyes as hard as he could, trying to force himself to go to sleep, even contemplating with the possibility of holding his breath long enough so he could pass out. He sniffled as he checked his phone that started to buzz.

Scott: Dude. My mom is working a late shift. Preserves. Right Now. I think I know the Alpha. 

Stiles jumped out of bed. For a while, it seemed as if Scott had ignored the whole “I am a werewolf” thing, but it looks like the gang’s back in action. It didn’t take long for him to get dressed and sneak his way into the jeep before stopping at the McCall Residence to pick up Scott. He watched his best friend get in the car. “OK, first of all- you smell awful- second of all- we gotta go that scary old Hale house back in the preservation, that’s where the alpha is. Dude I’m titillating with excitement.”

“Titillating? That’s a big word for Scott McCall.”

“That’s right. Your boy reads now.” He flashed a grin.

“Anyways- so I was digging around and you remember that little purple flower we found the other day? Yeah- ain’t so sweet. It’s called wolfsbane and apparently it’s like a PBJ to a kid with a nut allergy as it is to werewolves. So yeah- have fun trying to not die because Beacon Hills is loaded with this stuff.” Stiles snarked as Scott sank and retorted in discomfort.

Parking in the entrance of the preserves, Scott pondered, “you sure no one will see us?”

Clicking his tongue, Stiles hesitated, “at least my dad won’t.”

The next hour would entail running around in the dark of the crisp, fall night, in the midst of trees throwing curveballs and ow’s and oh shit’s. Finally, after minutes of shining their flash lights at each other as if they were shaggy and scooby doo whenever they heard the tree branches rustling and crunching of leaves, they finally came to the home that had been burnt to a crisp. It’s more of an urban legend around Beacon Hills. 

“This is the place.” Scott analyzed it, taking it all in with easy breaths. “This is where Derek Hale lives.” 

“You know he had a sister right? Who survived the fire? There was this whole thing at school about how he was the one who killed her.” Stiles spoke solemnly. 

“Yeah, I heard my mom talking about it with your dad. Apparently he’s wanted by the sheriff’s county.”

“Can’t imagine for what of.” Stiles eyed a certain, lilac color poking out of the ground by the charred-up home. 

“Arsonry.”

Stiles ignored the comment, “hey Scotty-” he came closer to the flower. “You might wanna see this.” Scott looked back when he too noticed the flower. 

“Stiles it’s just a flower.”

“Not just any,”

“Leave the poor flower alone.”

“Scott it’s literally unnatural for it to be like this- and you’re supernatural! Comprende?” Stiles plucked at it before realizing he had to pull a little harder, but he got a little more then what he warranted for. “What the hell?” 

Out came a whole lasso-worth of rope with wolfsbane laced around it as he effortlessly released it from the ground. “This is not good Scott, not good.” The rope come out in the form of a circle, and by the time Stiles had finished, there was just a bulge of dirt in a hole in the ground. 

“You see?” Scott took a breath. He could physically feel Stiles’ eratically beating heart through his fingertips. “Nothing there.”

Stiles stepped closer, kicking the dirt away with his shoes. The moonlight had hit something oh so weirdly. “Oh no- dude there is most certainly something here.” Stiles dug and dug until he hit the jackpot.

Or should I say body?

“Holy Shit!” Stiles jumped back, in fear of the naked half-body of a poor girl under the earth. He couldn’t see at this point, he couldn’t feel his fingertips- they were numb, he couldn’t breathe. All he could see were trees. “Scott?- Scott!” A dizzy spell flew over him as he started to pinch himself because he couldn’t find his best friend anymore. Scott is dead. Scott is dead Stiles. You know that, kid. You know that. -No, no, no, no I can’t breathe no Scott’s here, he was just here oh my god I can’t feel my legs why can’t i- Wake up Stiles you’re having a dream, this is a dream. This is a dream- it’s all a dream. Stiles started to dash in the woods. Run, run- they’re chasing you- they want to bite you too Stiles. “No, no don’t bite me! Please!” You better run Stiles, or else you’ll end up just like them! “No- no get out! Get the fuck out of my head! Get out, get ou-” In the midst of pulling his hair to the brink of where it makes him cry, for the split second that Stiles closes his eyes- s m a c k. He’s into a tree and down on the forest floor, out for the count. 

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. 

“I’m awake.” He tries to make conversation, realizing the red he was seeing was the blood dripping from a nick on his forehead. “Shit.” He wipes it off. At this point, Stiles can’t tell if he’s dead, asleep, or just high as fuck. He can’t go home, no- not like this. He needs help, so he goes to the one place he knows he can get it. 

The next thing to wake the sheriff up at 4 in the morning was the phone ringing like crazy. Noah has a thing with horrifying phone calls. 

“M-Melissa?” Noah scrunched his eyes when he turned on the light. 

 

“Noah,” She sounded scared as hell. 

“Me-Melissa- is everything- are you okay?”

“Noah.. I don’t know what happened, I don’t know what’s going on but- Stiles is here- he’s safe thank god but, you need to come down here. Now.” Melissa was rubbed her hands down her tired face. Ever since Scott left, she’s been picking up extra shifts at the hospital thinking she’s got no one to go home to now. Besides, she feels that maybe if her son got more help quicker, then maybe he would be getting up for school in a few hours. She recalled how Stiles was when he first came into Beacon Hills Memorial. 

“Sir? Do you wanna get signed in so we can have a doctor look at you?” A gentle lady had come up to Stiles, who had given her a rather unwelcome feeling of hospitality back. “Sir?” She held out her hand. 

“Don’ttouchme.” He whispered, gritting his teeth.

“Sir we have other patients you have to be courteous of so if you could please-”

“Don’tfreakingtouchme!” 

“Stiles? Stiles oh my god baby-” Melissa said quietly as he came up to the front desk. He was distant, fazed. Completely distracted, yet distraught. His face was bloodied, and he refused for anyone but Melissa to lay a finger on him. “Are you okay? What happened?” She immediately grabbed him by the hand, afraid he would topple over. There were tears in his eyes, and his hair was growing out from his buzzcut she noticed, but the longer strands were covered in dirt and bits of leaves. All she could think of was, what the hell was this kid doing at four in the morning?

“I don’t know- I was in bed and then I was in my car and Scott was and we were in the preserves and then we found a body and Scott left and I couldn’t breathe and i’m dizzy and-” tears were filling the teenager’s eyes as he rambled quickly with a breaking voice. 

“Okay- okay relax, breathe okay baby? Slow down.” Melissa wiped the blood that was fresh off his face for now, but was concerned with whatever the hell just came out of his mouth. She held his hands. They were so cold. At this point, Stiles couldn’t even stand up straight. “You drove here?”

Stiles nodded, digging his face into his inner arm to dry his tears. 

“And your father doesn’t know you’re here. Right?”

Stiles shook his head, “please don’t tell him-” he sniffled. At the moment, Stiles was really questioning his status as a golden child. He couldn’t bare the thought of waking his father up in the middle of the night after a crazy 20 hour shift. 

“Hey, hey it’s okay- we’re gonna help you okay honey? Let’s get you cleaned up.” By the time Noah had come, Stiles had fallen asleep with the help of a sedative and was changed into a very-flattering hospital gown, They had gotten him tucked underneath an electric blanket to raise his body temperature that had plummeted without him even noticing. 

“Melissa-” Noah frantically stopped her at the door. 

“Sheriff.” Melissa wiped away at her eyes. She treated Stiles as if he was her own son- which means she felt for him the same way as well. The nurse didn’t know whether to be upset with the father’s negligence or sympathetic for his son’s state of condition.

“Can I see him?” He said quietly. 

The nurse hesitated for a moment, “I uh- I think it’s time we do some tests, Noah.”


	5. Get Out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter this time! Hi guys :)

The smell of the ammonia and pristinely-clean everything, hit Stiles’ nostrils first immediately when he woke up. He groaned, everything was slightly-ever-so-fuzzy, but he was okay, even though he doesn’t remember how he ended up here. There was an intense burning feeling in his hand when he woke up before realizing it was an IV poked and prodded into him. Cue the mini freakout. However, the second thing he noticed was a very familiar, warm face tiredly smiling at him. 

“Hey buddy,” his father gave him a gentle smirk.The sheriff was in his uniform, looking fresh and clean even though he had bags under his eyes. The two of them haven’t been getting much sleep lately. 

“Hey.” His voice was raw and sore, evident he had caught a cold.

“So.. anything you wanna tell me? Maybe the details about your little run last night?”

Stiles sat up, pursing his lips. “Umm.. no- no I think I’m good.” Stiles watched his father sigh and sit back in the seat. Luckily, Melissa had come just at the right time to find the boy staring around with crazy eyes and furrowed brows. She took a breath before giving him a smile. 

“Good morning Stiles. Noah.” She sweetly said as she seemed to change the IV bag. 

“Uh.. so is anyone gonna update me on why the hell I’m here?” Stiles tried to ask as politely as he could, “I’m not uh, exactly enjoying this thing prodding me like an alien.” He reffered to the butterfly needle attached to the IV. 

“Sorry,” Melissa chuckled lightly, “If I were in your shoes kiddo, I’d be confused as hell too, so allow me to shed some light. You really don’t remember?”

Stiles shook his head. Damn, he must’ve crashed hard. But Melissa decided to enlighten him anyways on how he fanatasized a whole meeting with Scott about werewolves and went to the burnt down Hale house and claimed to have found a body in the woods before passing out in the forest floor. 

“You’ve got a minor concussion, by the way, so let me know if you start to feel extreme periods of dizziness or nausea.” Melissa added in, even though with all the added stress and anxiety, he usually feels that at a constant rate everyday. 

“I- I wasn’t dreaming though, that happened.” Stiles said quietly. 

Melissa looked at his father in concern as he spoke, ‘Stiles, son- we talked about this. You’re just trying to grieve and it’s okay, but there’s a fine line between grieving and straight on delusions, kid.“ Noah held Stiles’ hand softly, taking in the veins and the lines and creases coursing through his hands. 

“Dad n-no this. This. was real. I swear it was-” he started off, “or at least I think it was.”

“No sweetie, it wasn’t. There is no body in the woods, no werewolves, no Derek Hale. Hell- I don’t think he even lives in Beacon Hills anymore. And there’s no Scott, baby.” Melissa explained to him. Stiles just stared at her softened expression. The death of your son really shows it in your face apparently. Not that she looked different, she was quite a pretty lady- but she just doesn’t seem herself anymore. Like she was a puzzle, and one of the pieces are forever lost, leaving her forever unsolved. And don’t even ask about the father. He didn’t want anything to do with Scott then, and he doesn’t want anything to do with him now. “Stiles you need to understand that coping-” Melissa’s voice broke as she turned away from him, not wanting to cry in front of him. 

The sheriff felt a shear pain inside him as he continued for her, “it’s different for everyone, and if you’re having trouble accepting it, then it’s okay to admit you need help. You understand?”

Stiles nodded with glassy eyes as Melissa pulled herself back together, taking a deep breath.

“We think it’d be best if we ran some MRIs to see what’s going on because I’m gonna be honest Stiles- we’re worried about you. And noting the family history and all..”

Stiles perked up. “You think it’s dementia?”

“It’s too early to know, and even suggesting it would be shoddy at the least.”

It took a minute for it to sink. You know, now would be a really good time to wake up from this nightmare, Stiles. I’m not kidding dude. If you don’t wake up right now I am going to eat you alive. The idea of having frontotemporal dementia ate away at his skin and sent shudders down his spine. The day to get tested would’ve eventually came. It just came sooner then he would’ve liked.

Melissa broke the awkward, depressing silence, “anyways, it seems like you picked up a pretty nasty head cold last night so you’re gonna feel a little weak as your immune system fights it off, but for now I’m just gonna give you something to help you sleep it off.”

“But I just woke up…”

“Stiles you slept for about 4 hours. You are one profoundly sleep-deprived young man. They wanna keep you overnight for observation anyways until they get you scheduled for an MRI tomorrow morning.” 

Stiles threw a worried glance at his father, “no, no- no we are not doing that- I am really okay, I really don’t need to stay overnight Melissa and I swear I will go home and sleep and-” Stiles was pulling at his IV as started to get restless, sniffling as he tried to sit up as if he were leaving. All Stiles could think of were hospitalbillshospitalBILLSHOSPITALBILLS.

“Stiles, stop, take it easy.” Noah stood up, grabbing Stiles by the arm. 

“No dad- i don’t want to do this! Dad- dad don’t let her touch me.” Stiles claimed, pushing against his force as Melissa held his other hand, a syringe with antibiotics in her own. Every inch she got closer to him, the further he inched away. 

“Stop! Don’t freaking touch me!” Stiles yelled out. 

“Okay, okay..” 

Suddenly, the whole room went quiet, and Stiles swore the world stopped spinning. His cheeks were exasperatingly red, and he was breathing heavy from rage. All was heard for a minute was his ins-and-outs. Stiles was on his side, wrapping his arms around his father’s. Melissa’s hand was across his chest, feeling it rapidly go up and down.

“Stiles.” She stopped for a second then continued. “Are you calm now?”

He nodded, not moving from his position. 

“Okay then. I’m gonna give you the shot- but don’t move or else it will hurt. Okay honey?”

“Ok.” He quietly said, allowing her to pinch past his skin. The thought of the piece of metal inside, intruding his blood vessels and bodily systems, made him want to vomit. 

Within a few minutes, he fell asleep.

 

Melissa took Noah outside in the hall to speak in private. She paused for a moment before inhaling, “it’s getting bad Noah.”

“I know.” The words were solemn and crisp off his tongue. 

 

“Listen.. I know- it’s rough and all but,” Melissa lowered her voice to a hushed whisper, “I want to be confident that you have your drinking controlled. One hundred percent.”

Noah stood back for a bit before sighing in relief, “I deserved that. But really- I’m doing good so far.” The only reason she had asked was due to the fact that if this was something just more than Stiles going through the five stages of grief- alcohol isn’t an option. “I appreciate the concern but, I’m doing fine. But you know he’s not- right? And the worst part is- I don’t think this dementia. I don’t remember it ever being this for Claudia. With Stiles- everything is so sudden. His entire mood has changed, and he’s hallucinating.”

“So what are you thinking?”

“Maybe multiple personality disorder or- or, BPD- something. This isn’t dementia eating away at his brain.” The man stammered as Melissa watched him wrestle with his own thoughts. His arms were crossed, notifying Melissa that he was holding back information. “With my wife.. It wasn’t this fast. This abrupt.” 

Melissa gave him a look, that I-know-you-know-something-else look. “What?”

He sighed, “I got a call from Mr. Harris. Saying Stiles’ behavior was more unusual then it was.”

“It’s Mr. Harris- he thinks everything besides teenagers getting detention is unusual.”

“He said Stiles was acting irrational- and he had bombed a test mainly for just not answering the questions. But then a few days later, he retook it and aced it. It wasn’t just that Melissa, it’s the constant tiptoeing he did around me, the shifting looks as if someone’s watching him. I haven’t seen him so nervous since his mom left him.” The sheriff had wiped away at his eyes, recieving a tight embrace from the nurse. Great. Now they were both crying in the hospital hallway. Melissa felt so light, so gentle in his arms against his shoulders. It didn’t help that she smelled amazing too. “I don’t know how you do it.” Noah said, pulling away.

“Do what?” She asked, swiping the tears off her cheeks. 

“Stay alive.” He looked back at the window of the room in which Stiles was dozing off in. He couldn’t imagine a world without his son and wife. Not both of them. Plus- Stiles had just made it more entertaining for him to come home to at night. There was always someone to talk to when the floors of the home creaked. There was always someone to talk baseball when the Mets, Stiles’ favorite team, had lost (as if them not winning was a shocker. Play ball.) “I don’t know what I would do..”

“It’s okay. Stiles was Scott’s brother. So technically that kid is my son.” Melissa laughed with bright eyes.

Noah smiled right back, feeling a warm sensation around him, “you can have him.”

So the day continued on. Because the universe does not give a shit that Scott McCall is dead, or that Stiles Stilinski is asleep, sedated because he was freaking out so much that they had no choice. The leaves kept falling. It was almost the end of their first term of school, and it had gotten so bad for Stiles to deal with everyone giving him pity and shit and fake “im sorry”-s when they couldn’t give a flying fuck over who his best friend was. And now the whole town’s gonna hear about how the sheriff’s kid is losing his shit. Death does that to you. It waits and waits for you to have it so damn good in your life and then at your peak, he swoops in and takes away the most precious thing in your life. Death gives you dark circles and huge bags under his eyes, and he gives pity and shame. It sucks. Whatever. It’s fine, I’m fine. So when Stiles woke up the next day- (yes the freaking next day because he’s been out for so freaking long, drifting in and out of consiousness,) he was immediately taken to get an MRI done.

That was a pain in the ass. Stiles was a pain in the ass.

Not only did he not want to get out of bed, but claimed he just absolutely couldn’t get in the machine or else something bad will happen. It took a whole team of nurses to relax him enough to get in, but it didn’t help that he had just test for a longer time because he couldn’t keep still. The rattleRattleRATTLE clangClangCLANG of the machine freaked him out so much he started to cry at one point and had to be pulled out.

Nice job, you miserable fuck. You can’t even do the freaking test that’s gonna cost your dad $2,000.

I’m sorry, I’m not usually like this. I swear.

Oooh Stiles Stilinski is afraid of the big, loud BANGINGBANGINGBANGBANG.

Oh god, I’m sorry- make it stop I can’t stand the sound, i’m sorry I’ll be quiet.

How do people even go out in public with you?

Dad. Dad. I really want my dad. 

“Stiles?” There was a voice on the intercom of the machine. It sounded familiar.

“Scotty?”

“Yeah- listen you’re okay. It’s okay- I promise you nothing is hurting you, and it’ll be over in a few minutes, okay dude?”

“Okay, Scott.” Stiles was relieved he was back. “Hey Scott?”

“Yeah buddy?”

“Can you keep talking to me? The white noise makes it hard to focus on one thing.”

“Of course.”

“Hey Scott. I’m scared.”

“It’s okay dude. I am too.”

“If it’s dementia- kill me before I go crazy.”

 

“Not doing that, Stiles.”

The results were in within the next hour. Stiles was feeling everything within two minutes, his heart was pulsing and he could feel his skin getting paler. The nerves in his body were on fire. The doctor was talking to his father in the room, but he could hear everything. It started with “There’s Good news and bad news..”

The sheriff held his breath for a moment. 

“Good news is Stiles isn’t suffering from frontotemporal dementia.”

His heart was beating again. 

“The bad news is- Stiles definitely is starting to pickup some sort of mental disorder. We’re thinking it’s hereditary considering your wife’s condition, possibly passed down non-functioning genes. With the symptoms he’s been having.. It’s possible for a mental illness to be present but it requires a lot to diagnose one specific target.”

The sheriff’s heart stopped. Stiles was sitting down, trying to block out the words. 

“If it were Dementia, we would be able to pinpoint a substantial amount of brain matter decrease, but we can’t tell so far according to any other condition. Again- with the circumstances and sudden behavioral changes, it could a severe form of an anxiety disorder. The only physical changes we can see in the brain so far is some strange, damaged activity in the nerve cells in the frontal lobe, but we don’t have anything to compare it to.”

mentalillnessMentalIllnessMeNtAliLlNeSsMENTALILLNESS, you fuck up you hear that? mentalillnessMentalIllnessMeNtAliLlNeSsMENTALILLNESS, mentalillnessMentalIllnessMeNtAliLlNeSsMENTALILLNESS.

Stopstopstop I’m fine, I’m fine leave me alone. 

mentalillnessMentalIllnessMeNtAliLlNeSsMENTALILLNESS, mentalillnessMentalIllnessMeNtAliLlNeSsMENTALILLNESS, MENTAL ILLNESS

I’M FINE. LEAVE ME ALONE OKAY?

“Son?” Noah sat down next to him as the doctor reviewed the files in his -allisnotwell- folder. “You okay?” The news is equally hard enough for them to hear. His hand was on his son’s back, rubbing it. 

mentalillnessMentalIllnessMeNtAliLlNeSsMENTALILLNESS YOU”RE DEAD.

Get out- getoutoutgetout.

“Hey..” Noah said gently. But Stiles didn’t answer. He didn’t want to be here, he didn’t want to do this, he didn’t want to be sick. But there’s a voice in his head- it’s screaming and crying and pounding on his brain as if it were a jail cell, waiting for it’s release. It hurts- and it’s ringing in his ears and Stiles wants to do is yell out, but he can’t get his lips to move, or his vocal cords to force a sound. The only thing he could do was watch his fingers tremble ever so slightly. “We’re gonna get you help kiddo, okay? We- we’re gonna get you to a doctor who can figure it out, okay?” 

The man in the white overcoat gave his father a few brochures, one titled as Teens and Anxiety. But this wasn’t a teenager with anxiety. That’s called a student. This is so much fucking more then just anxiety. This is his thoughts and intellectual freedom and his future and his love life being ripped away from his hands. There were a bunch of topics addressed in the pamphlets: Depression, Social Anxiety, Multiple Personality Disorder, Panic Attack Disorder. 

But none of that would matter when a few days later, Stiles freaks out during a psychological screening. He’s got his father and Melissa dumbfounded because one minute he’ll be jumping up and down excited from a girl talking to him at school, and then sometimes he’ll just sit there and won’t move or talk to his father at dinner. Noah knows he isn’t sleeping either, the dark bags underneath his eyes were evident. Stiles is always late to school, he’s losing track of time at this point, and obviously the phone calls from his teachers are almost daily do to his drop of grades. Stiles tries to explain- it’s not that he’s not trying- it’s just he’s having a hard time trying to focus. Everytime he sits down in class, everyone just stares at him- what’s his name anyways? Doesn’t he play lacrosse with you? I always liked McCall better. Poor guy. A lot of them were awful to him, but also a lot of them were generous and sympathetic. But you know- it just fucking sucks when your best friend dies. Stiles replays the night over and over again. The night they went into the woods. The night Stiles took him into the woods. It keeps him up at night. 5 stages of grieving my ass.

“Mr. Stilinski- it appears that your son may be suffering from a severe case of paranoid schizophrenia, although, the way his symptoms have been explained to me- it may even be a rare form of undifferentiated schizophrenia, which explains the delusions, the insomnia, and even the catatonic states.”


	6. Don't tell her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi friends! so sorry it took so incredibly long, but hope you enjoy this! also the whole therapy situation dialogue thing is specified as the past, it's just being retold but there is a few days time jump in between the therapy scene and the dinner scene. sorry for any mistakes!

The last three weeks have been full of therapy sessions, breakdowns and panic attacks, hospital tests, and missed school work. Stiles wanted attention from his father, but not like this. He couldn’t stand the constant peering over the shoulder- the extra niceness, the lack of a stern tone when being talked to by his father. 

Stiles was Schizophrenic.

He thought it was such an ugly word. 

It wasn’t that bad until a few days after his diagnosis, because they had gotten him on a treatment as soon as it was official. He goes to therapy 3 times a week, which despite her trying, she wasn’t really getting anywhere with him, considering he has only gone to two out of the 6 scheduled appointments. And Noah couldn’t even fight with him on it in fear of Stiles lashing out and giving up on the entire process.

The first time he went was the worst by far.

“So Stiles.. How are you?”

Stiles watched the woman’s lips. Her lab coat was adorned with a name of Sterling, Meredith, despite the fact that she wasn’t a real physician. 

At first, Stiles just sat down, analyzing the uneven tiles of the space grey walls, and the monotone vibes the room gave him really freaked him out. He looked over to his right, Scott was right by his side sitting in the other chair, allowing Stiles to continue his silence. 

Don’t tell her. _**DON’T TELL HER ABOUT SCOTT**_. _DON’T TELL HER._

“How am I?” He asked quietly after a few minutes, breaking the uncomfortable silence. 

She smiled sweetly, her jet black bangs sweeping in over her glasses. 

Do not tell her. _She’ll hurt you- she’ll take Scott._ _DON’T TELL HER._

Stiles didn’t answer.

She crossed her legs, putting one on top of the other as Stiles’ fingers vibrated. Looking pensively around, Scott had disappeared. 

“Stiles. Do you know what the term schizophrenia means?”

He slightly pursed his lips as he heard his best friend’s voice again, forcing him to throw a sharp glance to his right. “Dude it’s okay- she’s trying to help you, I know you looked all of this up. Tell her how smart you are.” Scott smiled a goofy grin.

“It’s Latin. Splitting of the mind. To the point where you can’t distinguish reality and dreams. And I also know it tends to cross over with other disorders like BPD, depression, OCD, bipolar disorder- that’s why it took so long for me to get diagnosed.” He said incredibly quietly, to which the woman seemed quite impressed. 

“Excellent.” 

A small notification alerted- Scott’s phone. 

“What is it?” Stiles asked.

Dr. Sterling threw him a look of concern and confusion. 

“Isaac. Said the alpha is looking for me right now. Said he was going to find us.” Scott’s face was covered in panic but tried to play it cool for Stiles.

“What? Right now?” 

“Stiles- I need you to focus on me.. Okay?” Dr. Sterling intruded. 

“Stiles relax- I’m gonna take care of it. He will not come anywhere near you.”

The taste of bile crawled up his throat- he was about to throw up everywhere. A certain feeling of anxiety forced the butterflies to do somersaults in his stomach. Stiles got up but before he could even think of chasing Scott out, he had disappeared again. Suddenly, his breath hitched and was accompanied by shakes and trills. 

“Stiles please try to relax sweetie.”

“No- no he’s coming, he’s coming. I can’t stay here-” Stiles was running his hands through his hair again, analyzing the room and seeking out all the windows. 

“Stiles who? Who’s coming?”

Don’t tell her. He’ll get her too. **YOU’RE GOING TO DIE.** He’ll get both you. _DO YOU WANT TO BE RESPONSIBLE FOR THAT? YOU’RE GOING TO DIE. DON’T TELL HER._

Eyeing the windows, he scurried over and pulled down the shades obsessively, checking them all three times at least to make sure they are completely proofed, “no- no we have to close these.. We can’t let them see.” He whispered to himself with red cheeks, “can’t.. They won’t see.”

She thinks you’re weird now. **SHE SAID YOU’RE CRAZY. YOU ARE CRAZY**. _I’M GOING TO KILL YOU FIRST_.

“I’m not crazy- I’m not crazy,” Stiles felt the inside of the room start to close in on him, he felt the alpha- he felt Peter coming to get him, coming to gouge his eyes out with his claws first so Stiles could physically see the wolf ravage his soul. 

“Stiles honey- listen to me. You are not crazy- it’s okay.” The psychatrist tried to comfort him, but gave him space should he become violent. The young man, deluded deep into his thoughts, was breathing hard as he slid against the wall and sat in the corner with his knees up to his chest. Poor Stiles was physically crying now. Stiles buried his face into his knees with his fingernails digging into his scalp. “Don’t let him in- don’t let him in.” He repeated in a mantra. 

She kneeled down across from him, “don’t let in who Stiles?”

“Peter- don’t let him in.”

DON’T TELL HER ABOUT SCOTT, **YOU SCREW UP.** I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you. _She thinks you’re insane you miserable fuck._ **Don’t open the door.** Don’t forget the windows.

“No, no, no, no- _getoutGetOutGETOUT!”_ Stiles yelled out before breaking down into a sob. 

After that whole break down, and a very confusing talk between Dr. Sterling and Sheriff Stilinski (in which Peter was a very crucial element to the topic of discussion), Stiles didn’t go to therapy for almost two whole weeks. And it fuckng sucked. Everyone around him knew the hallucinations were getting worse, from leaving the house in the middle of the night to “find the alpha” to devising a plan for Scott to take Allison to the dance, which also was a topic of discussion one night. And he couldn’t help himself. He knew Scott wasn’t real, but whenever he sees the goofy grin, it would be a mistake to think he was dead.

“Stiles kid,” the sheriff had just put down dinner that night before breaking the news, “you’ve got therapy tomorrow. You’re going. You’ve missed the last four.”

Stiles through him a furtive glare, “no I most certainly am not. Besides, I'm helping Scott ask Alison out to the homecoming dance.”

The sheriff took note of the word _Alison_ , he chuckled, “oh I think you most certainly are. God damnit Stiles! I just want you to get better!” 

Stiles forced a mouthful of whatever the hell was supposed to be on the plate into his mouth and down his throat. “Sorry daddy-o, but it just doesn’t make sense.”

“What doesn’t?”

“The reason I go to therapy. I go and talk to some random ass lady who claims she is an expert on Schizophrenia, when she’s never personally and physically dealt with it. _I’m the expert,_ not her.” Stiles said a little too as-a-matter-of-factly.

Stiles was right. Noah was a bit impressed, but he knew his son was a smart cookie to start with, which made this even scarier. 

“Remember to start the new medication tonight.” And with that, Noah watched Stiles leave the table with a plate still full since he protested he was tired from the week. The young boy was ready to plop over into another sleepless night before something- ‘er someone- caught his eye.

“Leave.” Stiles ordered, noticing Scott peering past the doorframe. 

“Stiles can we just-”

“I don’t want you here. Get out.” He huffed, this time the young man was pacing back and forth, an orange bottle of antipsychotics rattled in his hand as he cautiously read the labels. 

“Stiles I want to help you-”

Stiles was making an ugly, angry face now with furrowing brows, “this is because of you. You Scott. You make me lose control of myself. _I can’t fix what I did._ ” 

What he did?

The other boy stepped carefully, getting closer and closer with a hand held out, “okay buddy- I think- I think you need some sleep.. Right?”

“No- no, no- no nononono.” Stiles stammered, straining his face as he started to turn red in frustration. “If I take this- you leave. If I- If _I take this- you leave._ ” Stiles reiterated, running his hands through his hair. His hands were trembling, almost with fear of the prescription pills. The clever boy knew how strong they were- these are the things his father finds kids from school overdosing on. 

“Okay.” The werewolf put his hands up in the air, “Okay dude- I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He watched the sick boy down a pill with a couple of glug-glug-glugs and when Stiles blinked, Scott had vanished. He closed his eyes for a second, feeling his bones settling in as his body adjusts to the foreign drugs.

“Stiles.” 

“Stiles.”

A very cognitive echoing woke the boy up, it was a recognizable voice. He opened his eyes to Scott hovering over him. He inched his gaze over, inaudible conversation coming out from Scott as Stiles stared at the ceiling. Realizing he was on his bedroom floor, Stiles tuned in to Scott.

“Dude you passed out! Come on, I’ll help you up.” Scott held out his hand to pull up the lanky teenager. 

Stiles closed then opened his eyes and the image of Scott warbled into an older man with deep wrinkles and tired eyes. 

“Stiles.. Can you hear me?” Suddenly, Noah was on his knees, his hand over Stiles’ chest and felt his heartbeat. Stiles didn’t realize he was breathing so heavily, nor did he realize he couldn’t move. He could see- his eyes were working but suddenly an immense amount of pain crawled into his bones and locked his joints. “Stiles kid-” Noah was in shock, assuming he was having some sort of seizure when the boy erratically breathed in a paralyzed shock. His arms tensed and vibrated and Stiles couldn’t bare to even groan at the pain- he couldn’t do anything. The sheriff immediately dialed 9-1-1 that night and watched his only child vibrate on the floor. It was difficult to get oxygen in and out considering he could physically feel his chest compressing down on his lungs in such a painstaking way as he let out slight shudders from his mouth. _He couldn’t move and it hurt to breathe._

“Stiles it’s okay- I’m gonna get you help okay kiddo?”


	7. Okay.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> after math of stiles' "muscle attack" and he suffers from side effects of his new meds. Noah suffers along with him. (*implied 'alcoholism' warning)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends. So sorry for all the angst coming up in this and the next few and i have decided to put trigger warning ins the summary just to be safe. Sorry for any grammar mistakes, i never do well in english class anyways

It’s called muscle rigidity. Another symptom of the mental illness. Not a side effect of the medicine. At least that’s what they told Stiles and his father last night. It tenses up your muscles and leaves you in excruciating pain, mimicking the appearance of a tonic-clonic seizure when really it was just tender muscle tremors. The teenager was out of it the entire rest of the night, muttering something about Scott as he refused to let anyone except for Melissa treat him, or touch him for that matter. He resided in the emergency room ward for a while as they ran some blood tests while the sheriff had to return back to work on an urgent call. 

Stiles stared at his IV, angry that they put it in because he was convinced they were trying to poison him with wolfsbane, but Melissa stopped him from pinching at it and suggested to him that they were just trying to make the dizzy-pukey feeling go away. He still had a fire burning in his ribcage, but that’s because he has felt tight all night to the point where they had to get him on oxygen because it just hurt so much for him to take deep breaths.

In the hustle and bustle of the room covered in the lingering scent of clean and blue scrubs, a man appeared to the right of the bed, and suddenly the ER had gotten quieter and filled with less people. 

“Derek- perfect timing.” Stiles perked up. The man with the dark cleanly shaven stubble and rich pale blue eyes was brooding. 

“Where’s Scott?”

Stiles clutched the sheets underneath his body, “I don’t know.”

“He said you really scared him last night. Scott was really worried about you.” Derek explained. 

Stiles felt an immense amount of unpleasurable guilt, not knowing what to say. It wasn’t exactly his fault that his body just decided to stop listening to his brain.

“Stiles. What did you see the other night?” He asked quietly.

Stiles gave it a few thoughts, but he couldn’t get it together.  
_carrepairshopmedicationCARscottALLISONLYDIA?medicationSTERLINGcarcarCAR_

“I don’t.. I can’t remember.”

Derek stepped in close to the teenager, “come on Stiles.. You’ve gotta remember. Without you, we won’t know what the hell that killing innocent people around town.”

 **You hear that? THEY’RE DYING BECAUSE OF YOU.** Nice one. Stiles you’re killing people. _STILES YOU’RE KILLING ME, WHY ARE YOU KILLING YOUR FATHER?_

“I can’t Derek.” Stiles was trying his hardest to not to get frustrated or angry and resorted to digging his fingernails into his skin. He closed his eyes and forced the creases into his palm, “I don’t know- I don’t remember.” With the hallucinations, comes disorganized and disorientation, taking over Stiles’ judgement and logical part of the brain.

lizardkanimakanimakanimalizardCARREPAIRSHOP

“Stiles stop,” Derek stood up once he heard the boy’s heart rate increase, “stop hurting yourself- please.” The older man grabbed Stiles’ hands, plucking his fingers apart from his skin. “Stiles relax- stop it!”

Stiles opened his eyes to Melissa trying to talk to him. Derek’s gruff, strong hands were replaced with softer, more gentle ones. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

“Sweetie- it’s.. It’s okay.” She gave him a warm smile. “I just wanted to wake you up before your dad gets here to take you home.” She pulled off the IV from his arm, putting a bandaid over the slightly bloodied patch of skin. “Were you dreaming?”

Stiles nodded his head but he didn’t remember falling asleep. “Do you know where Scott is?”

Melissa sighed, “Stiles. Honey- I need you to understand something.” Stiles looked at her, practically with puppy dog eyes, ready to burst. No amount of sleep cold get rid of the dark circles under his eyes, or the strain in them. “Scott isn’t- he isn’t with us anymore. We went over this.” She ran her hand through his hair, flicking the strands that stuck to his skin off his forehead. Stiles was basically her son, and she needed a child-like figure in her life to fill that void in her heart more than ever now. 

“I’m sorry.” Stiles didn’t understand. Where did Scott go?

The nurse cleared her throat before explaining to Stiles what he went through last night just to reiterate. “We’re gonna get you on stronger meds since clearly this isn’t helping, but the muscle tensing is going to happen more often than not because it’s an actual symptom you go through, in your case- after an episode.” 

Episode.

**Like you’re some fucking comedy show for everyone to laugh at.**

Stiles waited in the car as Melissa and Noah spoke, receiving two bottles of medication, a new type of antipsychotic and an anti-tremor. He was warned that missing one day of meds could disrupt his progress and he would suffer substantially that day from hallucinations and behavioral changes. She reiterated that the tremors would occur often but could be managed with daily medication and a stress-relieving action like stretching or yoga. Oh no- no, no- Stiles Stilinski does not do yoga honey. The boy didn’t talk to entire the car ride home. When asked a question- he ignored his father, forcing him to reword his sentence into a yes or no question just so Stiles would give him a nod or shake. The sheriff parked the car in the driveway, but stopped before opening the door and stalled as he took his seat belt off.

“Son, I’m gonna ask you one question. Okay? And I need you to answer it for me.”

Stiles was playing with the tassels of the red hoodie he wore, not taking the extra effort to make eye contact with his father. 

“The other night..” the sheriff started. 

**lizardkanimakanimakanimalizardCARREPAIRSHOP**

“...You were talking about Scott taking Allison to the homecoming.” 

Stiles heart was beating again, thankful that the convo did not go the other way. 

“Who’s Allison?” Stiles heard him ask. The question rang through his ears more than twice, echoing a little less loudly every time. The sheriff loves to speak in Italics, Stiles thinks. 

“She’s new at school.” 

“And she’s Scott’s girlfriend?” 

“Mhm.”

Noah sighed, mouthing the word, “okay.”

Stiles immediately made his way to his room with his father following in behind him, reminding him to take his new meds soon. The young boy tossed his sweatshirt on the bed and shut the door behind him, his dad surging after the loud slam. 

“Stiles- can you please keep the door open?” Just for safety reasons. Of course.

“Can you please stop talking in italics? My fucking God.” Stiles snarled from the other side of the door. 

Italics? What the fresh hell. 

The sheriff played his game, the next move in the chess match, “okay kid, I’m sorry. I won’t speak that way anymore.” He budged on the door knob, which was locked. “Stiles- I am speaking to you, kindly I might ask.” 

Stiles had no desire to get up from his very, very comfortable bed. 

“Stiles. I’m going to ask one more time- you’re being incredibly difficult right now buddy.” His voice was plagued with a stern, you-have-the-right-to-remain-silent timbre. Finally, after a moment of silence in which Stiles could physically hear the blood rushing in his ears, he got up, opened the door, then plounced back down to his bed.

“Thank you.” 

Stiles found himself staring up at the ceiling in his room. He could literally see his thoughts in formed sentences in front of him. Something was definitely wrong with his eyes. He could see his dad’s italicized words. He freaking hated italicized words. 

“I hate myself. I am being so mean and I don’t wanna be mean” Stiles whispered, letting out a groan of disgust. 

“Your dad understands dude.” Scott said right next to him.

“Are you mad at me?” Stiles looked to his best friend.

“No. Are you mad at me?”

“No.”

“Good.” Scott said.

“Good.” The other boy sighed, before taking his pillow, his favorite pillow that he can’t sleep without for some weird reason, and shoved his face into it before releasing a loud yell. The logic here is that if Stiles takes his rage out into the pillow, he won’t take it on his bedroom wall, which he was incredibly tempted to do. The boy tossed the pillow back, taking a deep breath as Scott listened to his heartbeat. 

“It was the kanima.” Stiles huffed out. 

“What?”

“The dead guy who turned up at the mechanics. I was there that night, I was getting the jeep fixed.” Stiles closed his eyes as he recalled the events. The man was highlighted in orange, the kanima in a chartreuse green. “It was the kanima.”

Scott took in a deep breath. “Okay. Thanks for telling me.” He processed it for a while; Scott was never good at comprehension anyways.

“Derek also stopped by. He ran off somewhere though. I think your mom scared him away.” Stiles chuckled lightheartedly, receiving a jab in the shoulder by the werewolf, but his smile vanished. “Your mom always tells me you’re not with us anymore. And it confuses me Scotty- I just.. I don’t know. I like it when you’re here. I like having a friend.” 

Scott and Stiles talked the rest of the day, stowing away in his room watching movies and talking about girls and the usual things. Something about Scott gleaming about Allison was followed by Stiles’ explanation of how Lydia doesn’t even know him but he still loves her. It’s okay man. At least he’s trying. At lunchtime, his dad let him know that he would be gone for while to do something at the station and that he trusts himself to eat lunch and dinner, so Stiles made sandwiches- two of them- and the boys ate them. Noah came a few minutes after Stiles and Scott had finished eating. It was almost 10 p.m. when he went to cook up something for himself to eat, he found two plates on the counter. One of them had a fully made sandwich on them. Of course, the sheriff was delighted to know that Stiles was thinking of him. 

When dinner came around, Noah came by, peering in to find Stiles chuckling while flipping through comic book pages and talking to himself, referring to Scott every once in awhile. Stiles was seeing Scott. Not in the sexual, hormonal fifteen year old boys. The sheriff felt guilty- because he couldn’t tell Stiles that Scott wasn’t there, he was still new to this whole parenting a hurting kid thing. And now he got it. The sandwich on the plate was _for Scott_ , in Stiles’ eyes, the plate was empty. The older man knocked on the door, giving both Stiles _and Scott_ a smile. “Hey kiddo.. It’s getting a little late.. I would offer Scott to stay the night but it’s a school night. Don’t forget to take your medication.”

“Okay dad,” Stiles looked at his friend, “Scott’s just on his way out.”

“Sure am, sheriff.” The nurse’s son gave him a grin, but of course his father neither heard or saw the kid. 

“Have a good night Scott.” The father sent his best regards to the very-imagined boy, coasting clear of all passage so he wouldn’t impose on Scott’s exit. 

“See ya Stiles.”

“Bye Scott.”

The sheriff stood there, as if expecting to hear the door open and close, but it never came. At least for his ears. His son was living in a whole other world, one he had no chance in comprehending or remotely understanding. 

Stiles smiled as he put all his stuff away. Today was such a great day; he couldn’t remember the last time he and Scott hung out and just _talked_ like that. His eyes became fixated on the orange pill bottle he got this morning, taking one pill out and downing with a tsunami of a chugged water bottle. He analyzed the bottle, reading the word “fluphenazine,” before going on to take a pill from the other bottle that read “benztropine.” After that, Stiles changed into sweats and another shirt before letting the exhaustion consume his body whole in the comfort of his beloved pillow. 

Noah finally sat down after a long day and ate his dinner. A bottle of whiskey was to his hand, a small shot cup filled with hours of temptation. He drank his first cup. He deserved it- ‘twas a long day. He poured out a second half-cup. Okay, okay so it was a really long day. _Plus_ , if he was going to do this whole parenting-a-sick-kid right, he needed a fallback. He then poured out his _third half-cup_ , and Noah just couldn’t feel any of the pain, misery, or sadness that will follow him tomorrow. It felt so good just to feel nothing. And the fact that Stiles was asleep just made it all the much sweeter, because now they both won’t have to worry about anything, just for a little. Or Noah was just pretty intoxicated at this point. Sure he’s gonna regret it tomorrow morning, but that sounds like a problem for tomorrow, not right now. The old man took his case files and laid down on the couch before falling asleep a couple of hours later, when the feeling of drunkenness started to slightly fade away. 

It was 3 in the morning when Noah woke up to a hard thud. 

He shot up with those reflexes of his and saw a dark figure on the floor of the hallway. Immediately, the sheriff turned on the lights and everything hit his eyes sharply; needless to say he was still feeling the alcohol post-zing, but it wasn’t enough to impair any of his abilities.

Stiles was lying on the ground, face down, with a puddle of his own vomit besides his head. 

_”Oh my god- shit Stiles..”_ The sheriff, allowing his mind to take a picture of the scene and to analyze what to do first. _God, please let him be alive, please, please, please._  
Noah wasted no time in getting over to his passed-out son, checking his pulse and finding that it is still normal. He drew a sigh of relief. Trying to avoid the pile of bile caught on the rug thankfully, Noah picked up Stiles by the torso, slipping his hands underneath the boy’s underarms and pulled him away to a clean area and laying him down. Somehow, he managed to get Stiles’ shirt that had got ruined and tossed into the trash. He grabbed the closest pillow and tucked it under Stiles’ head, then placed a water bottle down besides him. A small cloth was drenched in cold water and then rung, before placing it on his son’s forehead. 

“Stiles? Come on kiddo..” Noah kneeled down by his side, just like he had done the night prior, rubbing Stiles’ chest in a circular motion with the occasional tap. He brushed off the hairs that stuck his forehead as he watched his son stir and open his eyes in confusion.

“Stiles, can you hear me bud?” He asked in concern.

Stiles winced at the harsh lights, “m’head hurts.”

“Son do you remember hitting your head?” He shook his head as Noah shined the flashlight from his fine towards his eyes, not dilated he came to the conclusion. 

“Doesn’t look a concussion. Does it pound or-”

“Ihaveaheadache.” He barely managed to say, sitting up against the wall with his father’s help. “I was.. I was gonna throw up-” Stiles looked around in a daze, seeing that he _did_ throw up, “but I got.. I got dizzy.” He was talking slowly, and his eyes were starting to close because all he wanted was sleep so his father gave him some cold water to drink. “Where’d my shirt go..”

“The trash. It’s sorta covered in vomit. No amount of washing will get that out. I’ll buy you another kid.” Noah smiled before asking, “was it the medicine or are you sick? Was is something you ate?”

Stiles was starting to feel a little bit better know, sitting with his knees up to his chest and an elbow propped against his knee in which his hand rubbed his face, “I couldn’t sleep, I was nauseous the entire night after i took the medication, until I was really going to throw up.” Stiles had originally planned on going to the bathroom to vomit his intestines out, but got so dizzy, he never actually made it there. 

“Why didn’t you wake me up if it was that bad?”

 _”I tried.”_ Stiles said quietly. Noah’s heart dropped, knowing Stiles could probably still smell the pure alcohol on his breath. “But you crashed so hard- I felt bad..”

Noah sighed, suddenly feeling extremely guilty for his drinking. Stiles had come to him for help- but he was so drunk and out of it that he couldn’t wake up. The older man didn’t even think of the possibility that Stiles didn’t know about his drinking. It’s Stiles. He knows about everything. 

“Tell you what. Next time- you tell me, okay? You wake me up unless I’m dead.” Noah chuckled, trying to shed some light on the situation, “now if you’re sure that you don’t want to go to the hospital and get checked out-”

Stiles shook his head viciously. 

“Ok.. then let’s get you cleaned up and back into back into bed, okay Stiles?”

Stiles nodded, getting up with the help of his father’s support who carried almost half of the kid’s weight and took him to the bathroom to wash his face. 

“Sorry about the rug..” he apologized quietly.

“Don’t worry about it, just a rug kiddo.” 

With that, Noah helped Stiles back into bed, getting him into a shirt even though Stiles fought- saying he was “schizophrenic not a paraplegic.” It let the sheriff know that at least Stiles was trying to shed some light on his condition instead of wallow in self-pity. Within in a few minutes, and a cup of ginger-ale, Stiles was back to sleep.

Thank god. 

Noah rolled up the small rug that lay in the hall and tossed it in the bag with the shirt and took it outside. At least tomorrow was trash day. 

For the next week, Stiles’ condition would start to pick up. The medicine, despite being an actual living hell, controlled the hallucinations a bit, and Stiles wasn’t seeing Scott or Derek for a while- only on occasion. However, the tremors weren’t being managed, and he still hasn’t gotten much sleep, and the stomach pain he gets from the meds is definitely not worth it, but Stiles has only one goal from here. All week- he’s been studying for a crazy term-ending chemistry exam he’s gonna take in a few days. He’s all tested for all his other subjects, considering that his guidance counselor, Ms. Morell, has been helping him make up his test grades in class work since tests are associated with high levels of mental stress, but there was no absolute way in hell she could’ve gotten him out of this one. The fact that he isn’t hearing echoes in his head whenever he reads comforts him, and the sheriff even took a few days off to help Stiles prepare, considering his school attendance has been on and off these last few weeks. _He even went to therapy the last two times, and in two days he'll be going to another one._

For once in Stiles Stilinski's life, things are going okay.


	8. Ring-Ring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gradual decline of Stiles Stilinski. TRIGGER WARNING: Stiles suffers from a psychotic episode while home alone. So sorry for the abundant amount of spelling errors and the weird "everything is italicized" thing in the first quarter of the chapter, i have 3 weeks worth of education in HTML; i can only do so much to help myself ahah.

It was the next afternoon when Stiles had become so fed up with the meds, that he might have accidently on purpose stopped taking them that day. His father had gone down to the station to work, trusting to leave him home alone based on the fact that he had been doing so well.

Big no-no. 

He was fine all morning, seriously, you know the kid was just relaxing at the table, going over his classwork in preparation for class tomorrow. One day without medication wasn’t going to kill him. 

At least today it wouldn’t.

He was doing a chemical balancing equation before the words started to jump around the page in front of his eyes as if he were dyslexic. Getting extremely frustrated at the book, he huffed out- continuing to try to gather all the words to write down the question before his head started taunting him.

**YOU’RE SO DUMB**

Someone was talking back to him. 

_YOU CAN’T EVEN READ, WHAT ARE YOU?_ _Stupid?_

Stiles grunted, pushing down harder with his pencil as he failed to write any sensible words on the paper. The elements of the periodic table started to combine, confusing the hell out of the boy. 

_You’re so dumb. So dumb._

Leave me alone. 

_Remove from the carbon, and multiply the left side by 2. It’s not rocket science._

_It’s not rocket science. It’s not._  
**MULTIPLY BY 2**

_I MULTIPLIED, I MULTIPLIED._

_Stiles started to breathe heavy, throwing the book across the table and backing away. He felt himself distant from the world, the voices in his head taunted him. Stiles walked over to the couch, sitting down as he twiddled his thumbs, watching his hands tremble and vibrate as he sharply inhaled._

_“Stiles. Relax.” Derek was in front of him, trying to get out of his trance. Stiles looked around him in paranoia, jumping up to close the shades._

_**They’re trying to kill you.** _

_“N-no I have to close it.”_

_**Don’t let them in.** _

_Stiles cautiously, and slowly shut the shades of the window after peering out to make sure no one was in the front yard. After he had reassured himself four times, he slowly backed away._

_“Stiles no one is going to kill you.” Derek was standing still, trying to get through to the teenager._

__JACKSON_ **JaCkSoN** _

_The phone suddenly rang, causing Stiles to jump as he got closer to it. The rings echoed in his brain, sending feelings of worry and distress throughout his nervous system and brain._

_**Don’t answer. They’re trying to hurt you.** _

_I won’t answer. I don’t wanna die._

_“Stiles the phone is ringing.” Derek blatantly pointed out._

_**THE PHONE IS RINGING** _

_“I know the fucking phone is ringing!” Stiles burst out. His cheeks were red from trying to take too many deep breaths._

__It’s RINGINGringingRiNgInGRINGING_ _

___He knows that if he answers the phone- he’s gonna get murdered. If he picks up the fucking thing, he will die. The boy paced around tensively as Derek watched him mutter and whisper to himself in stress. Suddenly, Stiles could see the words of chemical equation floating around him. Carbon was following him. In an attempt to get his act together, Stiles turned on the tv, and sat on the floor, trying to ignore the endless ringing of the phone that made his heart pound with fear._ _ _

___The reruns of the morning news was playing, considering it was one in the afternoon. Stiles watched the news reporter talk about something regarding the economy and stocks, to which Stiles had no interest in until the man had stopped talking._ _ _

___Suddenly, he was talking to Stiles._ _ _

___“You’re so dumb. You know that?” The reporter said on the tv._ _ _

___Stiles’ heart started to pound roughly, threatening his ribcage._ _ _

___“They’re coming for you. They’re gonna kill you.” The reporter made a point._ _ _

___”Stop. Stop-stop-stop it. Stiles snarked back._ _ _

___“Stiles. You’re talking to a tv.” Derek stated beside him, still not moving from his original place._ _ _

___“No- he’s talking to me- they’re coming. He’s coming.” Stiles catatonically spoke out, too racked with fear to even move._ _ _

___The phone was still ringing._ _ _

___Stiles became so inclined towards it that he got up and threw the phone on the ground, unable to figure out how to shut it off. His outburst, however uneffective, scared him. The pacing started again, and so did the constant whisperings and mutterings. He couldn’t feel his fingers, he was probably going numb._ _ _

___“I’m dying..” Stiles whispered._ _ _

___“You are not dying.” Derek let him know the truth, watching the boy throw up his hands in defeat, as they traveled down to his face and into his hair which he pulled on in frustration._ _ _

___“I’mdyingI’mdying.”_ _ _

___A car beep had been heard from outside. In a matter of seconds, knocking on the door had rattled Stiles’ insides._ _ _

___“Stiles- someone’s at the door.” Derek said_ _ _

___The young man backed away, peering from the windows to find a car that adorned a pizza place top, but was still somehow convinced it was jackson trying to eat his legs._ _ _

___**Don’t open the door. They’re trying to kill you.** _ _ _

___“Gonna kill me.. Gonna kill me.” The boy whispered as he swore he could see the devil laughing on his shoulders._ _ _

___“Stiles open the door!” Derek didn’t mean to yell, or be mean, but the poor pizza guy had been standing out there for a while, and he knew there was someone home because he could hear the tv on. And someone talking._ _ _

___Reluctantly, his body was acting against his mind as he reached out for the door knob, watching his hands vibrate, and slowly opened the door; it was just enough so he could see the _culprit_. Coming to the realization that it was the pizza man, Stiles could feel his teeth still chattering because he just wanted him to so badly leave. So he took the pizza, and shut the door quickly, without paying the poor guy. Stiles tossed the box on the table, horrified to have touching it and was now fearing the thought that he had been contimanted and made his way to the bathroom. He was obsessed with the thought of what the delivery guy had touched before he grabbed the box, and what the box had touched: the gross bag delivary bag stocked in germs, the bag had touched the seats of the car, the car had been driving around in the heat all day.Let’s not even think about the knife they used to cut the pizza. The young aggressively washed his hands, taking 7 minutes to go through the process as he sung the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ song _Look Around_ twice because it was exactly 3 and a half minutes long. He then repeated the ritual when he was not satisfied that he was clean. _ _ _

___Finally, after 15 minutes, Stiles returned back and was contemplating thte thought of possibly eating the pizza, until his shadow decided that it was poisoned._ _ _

___**DON’T EAT THAT. IT’S POISONED** _ _ _

___Stiles stared at it, lifting the box to find a regular cheese pizza, but somehow accepted the fact that it was plagued with a horrid stimuli and would kill him with one bite like the apple in Snow White._ _ _

___“Stiles aren’t you hungry?” Derek asked._ _ _

___“No- no don’t eat it. It’s poisoned Derek.” Stiles claimed before returning to his pacing and mantra-reciting, “it’spoisonedit’spoisonedit’spoisoned.”_ _ _

___The phone was still ringing.  
The tv’s new reporter was still mocking him. _ _ _

___The pizza was still poisoned._ _ _

___There was still people outside trying to get him._ _ _

___The room was getting smaller._ _ _

___His heart was beating faster, harder._ _ _

___His hands were still trembling._ _ _

___Somehow, the pizza box was now on the floor._ _ _

___He was still trying to take deep breathes but they were replaced with grunts of dismay and insecurities._ _ _

___**DON’T LET THEM IN.** _ _ _

____It’s poisoned don’t eat it._ _ _ _

____They’re trying TO HURT YOU._ _ _ _

____DOn’t aNSWer_ _ _ _

___“Stiles just relax. You’re acting very _irrational_.” Derek was still in his place as he spoke. _ _ _

___Stiles started to get dizzy, feeling the heat suddenly spike and 3 different voices in his head warning him of death that was near. _”STOP TALKING IN FUCKING ITALICS.”__ _ _

___He watches Derek open the door._ _ _

___“Don’t leave. Don’t leave you’ll get hurt. _Derek please don't leave!_ ” Stiles whispered, convinced Derek won’t come back if he leaves. Betrayal courses through his system when the older man decides to leave, slamming the door behind him. _ _ _

____He can’t breathe. Not wanting to be here, Stiles made his way to his room, looking for safety. The closet seemed like the best choice as he made an empty little space. He felt his back hit the wall as his body sinks down and curls up, with his knees up to his chest. Stiles’ hands are covering his face, embarrassed of what he’s doing._ _ _ _

___Stiles felt his muscles getting tense again, the dreaded conclusion of his tantrum, his episode. The delusion-crazed boy started to cry, knowing that he couldn’t run away now, should he needed to because his body decided to stop listening to him. _He was going to die and he won’t even get to watch the new Star Wars movie coming out the next year.__ _ _

___The doorknob rattles again._ _ _

___Stiles’ eyes follow the figure that enters through._ _ _

___“Stiles?”_ _ _

___His father. The sheriff._ _ _

___“Stiles? I called you so many times to tell you I ordered you lunch- you didn’t answer.” The sheriff is talking loudly for the son who isn’t visible to him when he enters the home. “Stiles?” He looks up._ _ _

___There’s pizza on the floor. The TV is on, nobody’s sitting front of it. The window shades are pulled down. There’s chemistry papers everywhere._ _ _

___The sheriff took a deep breath, having an inkling of what the hell happened here. Suddenly, he kicks himself as he looks for his son, hearing him sniffle and breathe loudly in his room. Noah entered, finding Stiles’ medication unmoved from the night before where he watched him take it. The sheriff then found his boy curled up in the back of his closet, frozen and hallucinative._ _ _

___“Oh Stiles son…” Noah frowned, displaying a face that made Stiles feel so incredbily guilty. His father crouched in front of him, looking back at the dress that held the orange bottles, “I think you forgot to take your meds kid.”_ _ _

___Stiles was catching his breath, feeling half of his muscles relax which made his legs feel like jelly, but his arms were still feeling tight._ _ _

___“You wanna tell me what happened to your lunch?” He figured if he asked why the pizza was on the floor, then Stiles would open up to revealing the other details as well._ _ _

___“It was poisoned. I didn’t wanna die.” Stiles was still rocking himself back and forth. “The TV guy wouldn’t stop calling me dumb. I’m not dumb.”_ _ _

___“No, Stiles you are not dumb.” Stiles was one of the most intelligent teenagers Noah has encountered._ _ _

___“Then why does he keep saying I was?” Stiles almost yelled out, “Why did he leave? He just left me here to die.” The young boy was still rocking. He was thinking in bold letters but god- he wants to scream in italics- ALL CAPS. That's right. Stiles wanted to control-alt-delete right._ _ _

___He wanted to control-x himself and control-v himself into a black hole._ _ _

____backspaceBackSPaceBACKSPACE_ _ _ _

___“Son who left?” Noah asked in a soft tone._ _ _

___“Derek, he just left me.”_ _ _

___Noah nodded his head, “Okay buddy.. I’m gonna get you some water and you’re gonna take the medicine, and you’re gonna sleep it off.. Okay?”_ _ _

___“It makes me sick. I don’t like it. _No- no i don't like it_. I gotta balance my equation. Gotta balance.”_ _ _

___“It’s just your body getting used to it because it’s strong. The more you get used to it, the less you will have that feeling.” Noah explained in a hushed voice, trying to comfort his son. Noah felt like a horrible father for leaving Stiles to experience a psychotic episode all by himself._ _ _

___He’s not so sure it would be the greatest idea to let Stiles go to school tomorrow, despite him accumulating about 9 days of excused medical absences, and 3 sick days._ _ _

___The next day wouldn’t be any easier. In fact, it just goes downhill from here._ _ _


	9. (***Authors Note***)

Hi folks! Just an update- I'm currently writing the next chapter. Actually, i have been for the last two weeks or so, but to be honest i am finding it extremely difficult and overwhelming. As you might know, I do have a friend who was recently diagnosed with schizo-affective disorder, and thats where my interest for m story stems from. However, it is starting to affect not just him, but everyone else he loves and are around him, including me. I started to think about whether I wanted to continue my story or not, considering it hit just a little too close to home now, especially personally seeing the disease dismantle everything in the sufferer's life. But then I remembered reading this particular survival fic regarding a certain hurt!Stiles tag that was written during the time of Dylan's accident; I remembered the author saying they will continue the story not to focus on the fact that a real life accident occurred to a real life person, but to show strength through a realistic dilemma. So that is what I have decided to do. Just wanted to leave this note up here to let you know i am not abandoning it, but rather just taking a very, excruciatingly painful long time with it. This is because this topic is so incredibly difficult to write about, and I want to do it right so I can inform and educate the readers about the illness, not to glorify or romanticize or under emphasize in any way. The only way to write this story is the right way. Thanks for staying along if you're still here :-)


	10. Chemistry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is unfortunately another one of Stiles' episodes, so if you really are sensitive to it I'd suggest skipping. Anyways, this and the next chapter leads into the real plot of the story finally and i hope you all enjoy what i have in store for the next chapters!

“Alright class, you have 70 minutes to complete the test. Anything left not answered will be marked wrong. Good luck. You numbskulls need it.” Mr. Harrison ordered in basically a barking manner. Stiles had just come into school, skipping the first two periods, and also planned to leave after he finished the test in lieu of his day yesterday. 

Stiles had been prepping for the test all week, and he’s nailed everything so far. Nothing was going to stop him. _He even took his horribly tasting medicine_.

The young man was confident as he took his pencil to the paper, writing his name and the date as neat as he possibly could, making sure every crook and every line was straight. Stiles found himself racking his lungs in and out, with his heart beating faster than he would have prefered. Relax Stiles.

He stared at the first question:  
 _Noble gases are inert because they have completed outer electron shells. Which of these elements isn't a noble gas?_

Chlorine.   
He knew this one, circling his selection as he watched the graphite make a mark on his paper. However, it didn’t satisfy his likings, erasing it to circle it again. 

**Do it again.**

A man whispered to Stiles as he peered over his shoulders. No one was there as the student expected his teacher to be hovering over him. Subsequently, Stiles erased it again, and then circled it. Again, with a little bit more frustration at this point. He decided to skip to the next question and left that one smudged with graphite all over one answer. 

**They’re watching you.** He’s watching you. 

“Who?” Stiles called out, looking around as his peers glared at him.

“No talking.” Harrison barked.

Stiles drew a shudder-filled breath as he focused in on the next question, writing down anything he could scramble out of his brain.

“Scott-” Stiles whispered to the boy seated beside him, feeling a sudden urge to throw up. “I can’t do this-” his hands were entangled in his hair as he stared at him. 

“You’re so stupid Stiles.” Harrison barked from across the room at the teen. 

_”What?_ ”

“I said,” the teacher cleared his voice, pinching at his prescription glasses with a sharp quick, “what part of no talking do you not understand, Mr. Stilinski?”

Stiles blinked multiple times, “s-sorry.” His voice quivered. Never in his life has he apologized to the dick of a teacher. He went back, his eyes darting around the page for five minutes before he started to feel a burning sensation on his arms as the words started to float around. He scratched his forearms, but the feeling wouldn’t go away. 

_I don’t know any of this_.

**So stupid. You’re so stupid.**

_Everyone’s watching you Stiles._

Scott whispered at the kid, “Stiles- are you okay?” 

Stiles couldn’t respond back, just shaking his head back and forth.

He could physically feel his peers around him burning holes in the back of his head as he let out a loud huff and sigh. Stils tooks his hands to his face, trailing his fingers up into his hair before letting out another more audible groan. In the brink of the silence, Stiles got up from his seat and _laid down in the aisle of desks, on his stomach with his test_.

The rest of the class murmured, in shock of what was going on with the classmate. Professor Harrison, without looking up, senses with his spidey senses that it was Stiles. “Mr. Stilinski I’ll see you after school today and we’ll have a chat regarding your abilities to sit down and take a damn test.”

Suddenly, a small cry came out from Stiles who had his hands covering his head as he trembled in fear and frustration, alerting the teacher of an emergency. 

Without any words, Harrison got up from his chair and dialed for the school nurse, considering he was a sociopath who has no communication skills when it comes to high schoolers. Words like catatonic and episode were echoed in italics. Stiles found himself swarmed in thoughts of self-hatred and panic.

“Stiles?” He heard Scott’s voice.

“What’s going on?” Stiles then heard Allison. 

Whilst there were truly a friendly boy and a curly-haired girl who knelt down beside him, Stiles’ friends were nowhere to be found.

The boy shook silently before sitting up, sniffling and rubbing his watery eyes, before crumpling up his test and tossing it on the ground. He then resumed to _walk out of the room_ , only to roam the halls with Harrison’s furtive eyes following him. A blue pen was clutched aggressively in Stiles’ hand.

“Stiles!” The teacher followed after him, trying to get the teenager to relax before he did something regretful. The other students were ordered to stay in the room, and the nurse had called for the sheriff, who seems to come down to the school at the drop of a hat whenever it concerns his only child. 

“Leave me alone Scott! For fuck’s sake!” Stiles yelled across the corridors without making contact to the man following him.

“Stiles! Stop right where you are!” Harrison yelled at the boy as the nurse came around the corner. 

“I said fucking get out of here!” Stiles stopped, pulling at his hair strands before presuming to pound his fist against the lockers to the point where he cut his raw knuckles. _”Shit.”_ Stiles stopped, gritting his teeth together as he analyzed the room around him, completely in a catatonic state by the time he feels the nurse's’ hand on his shoulder. She’s saying something to him, something like “calm down,” or “it’s okay,” but Stiles can’t hear anything. He feels his legs start to buckle from underneath him and for once, he sat down and took the time to _just think._

By the time Noah had reached the scene, Stiles was sitting against the wall, pulling his pen apart into separate pieces, then putting it back together again as the nurse comforted him. 

“Stiles. You’re scaring me.” Scott crouched by him. 

“Sorry.” Stiles whispered, causing the nurse to perk up when it was the first time he spoke. He had been ignoring her whenever she asked him a question, whether it was about his sleep routine or if he took his meds and is going to therapy. 

“Why are you doing this to yourself man?” 

“I can’t stop it, Scotty.” Stiles continued with the pen, disassembling it four times and putting it back together 5. He watches the nurse talk to his father, hearing his chemistry teacher’s annoyingly loud dialogue.

 _”Stiles is emotionally and mentally disturbed,_ Sheriff. The campus is not a good environment for someone who is a danger to himself and everyone else.” He squinted his eyes as he spoke, all matter-of-factingly. 

“What exactly are you inferring about my son, Mr. Harrison?” Something about the way the words rolled off Stiles’ father’s tongue made his bones ache a little bit more. 

“I’m just saying, with all due respect, Stiles _needs_ more than a forced trip to therapy to _talk about his feelings_ once a week. You might want to take a look at his exam he was supposed to take.” The teacher quipped. Before the sheriff had found them, Harrison had gone back to the room and picked up the crumpled piece of paper that was Stiles’ test. Handing it to the father, he watches Noah’s eyes widen and his wrinkles form around the corners of his eyes from dismay.

Numbers and sequential orders were scribbled all over the first page. Stiles had written out all the numbers from 1 to 2,394 in strategic configurations that clearly meant something only to himself. He had failed to do anything else, but in his head, he was circling all the right answers.

Sheriff Stilinski thanked the teacher for the time before conversing with the nurse who recommended another psychiatric-inspired hospitalization, before bad things happen. Thanks. 

 

The car ride home consisted of a lengthy phone ride with Melissa and Stiles groaning at his legs that stung in the muscles. 

“Stiles kiddo.”

Stiles was counting his fingers. 

“3.. 4… 5..”

“We gotta talk about this sooner or later.”

“7.. 8.. 9..” the boy whispered.

“Son why are you counting?”

“Scott said if I have more than 10 fingers, I’m dreaming. But I have 10. So I guess today was just a really sucky day.” Stiles harshly let out. He didn’t want to talk, he didn’t want to breathe, he didn’t want to do anything. 

“Stiles you gotta stop with the Scott thing.” Noah threw a glance at him.

“With what?”

“God dammit Stiles! You know sure as hell that he’s not real! Nor is Derek, nor is Alison. No one! Okay- you _know this_! You know this Stiles.” Noah let out a mini-rant in a louder-than preferred tone, before realizing he was yelling over the poor kid who sat next to him with a sorrowful look. The older man felt tears in his own eyes and his voice broke, “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault kiddo. It’s- It’s the disease in your head, it’s not you.”

Stiles was suddenly sick to his stomach. The other night he had been reading up some articles, looking up the symptoms to schizo-affective disorder and noticed that it was common for schizophrenics to have no sense of guilt or empathy, but it felt to him that he has been feeling it more than he ever has in his life. 

“I took the meds today. And I studied really, really, really freaking hard for that test. And I swear- I swear I wasn’t even thinking of him. It’s just.. Hard. Dad.” Stiles couldn’t look his father in the eyes. 

“I know.”  
“It just sucked.” The boy analyzed the bandaid that the nurse had wrapped around his knuckle before continuing, “I looked over, and there was an empty seat. And I know. I know it wasn’t real, but I wanted it to be _so freaking bad_.

Suffice to say, it was the longest car ride ever.


	11. Authors note again *sigh

Hi everyone! I am so sorry again for the delay. I promise I have not abandoned this fic. I am just having some really shitty days lately, and although I’ve update my other fics with pre-written chapters, I take it one chapter at a time with this. Like I said, I want to do it right. I’ve been having terrible anxiety, and I’ve never done anything about it simply for the fact that my parents wouldn’t understand how to help me (they aren’t American, and aren’t predisposed to anything that a typical American high schooler goes through. In our culture unfortunately there is still a stigma surrounding mental illness.. You know, the works.) anyways, I’ve found myself unable to get out of bed the last couple days, not because I’m lazy, but because I’m seriously afraid to, afraid to screw up and shit like that. We live in an apartment building in New England, which the earth has unanimously decided as a collective to dump a fuck ton of snow over there, and our pipes burst, luckily our apartment wasn’t terribly destroyed, unlike our unfortunate neighbors. Anyways, I have school tomorrow for the first time in two weeks, and in one week I have mid year examinations, so who knows what the hell thats gonna do to me. Frankly, I’m nervous. My friends are oblivious, and I can’t exactly turn to my family without scaring the fuck out of them. That’s why I write. I write my experiences and my pain and take everything shitty that’s happened and turned it into something the people can relate to. So yeah. Maybe you’re going through something like this. Maybe you have a schizophrenic friend in which everytime you go to open this fic, it scares the shit out you even more on how real this mental illness is. So I’m taking my time with it, and I’m trying to take care of myself without causing a dubious drop in my GPA. So to any of my wonderful readers out there who are going through a tough time right now, remember that this random teen who’s obsessed with Dylan O’Brien loves you, and wants you to stay alive. Pour some tea. Turn off the lights and put in your earbuds on a hella good playlist. Take care of yourself for me okay? I better be back on Friday night with a bomb af chapter I promise you that. Stay alive everyone.


	12. Authors note. Sigh. Again

Hello all,   
I am so freaking sorry I haven't updated in so long. I've gotten such sweet comments on all my pics. I would like to let you all know that I am not stopping writing. I have written chapters for this story, and my other fics, but i just can't get myself to do anything.

I've been struggling with myself for the last few months. Struggling with friends, myself, my family, my school. A lot of things. 

But then something happened.

February 14th, 2018, a former student shot up Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida. He killed 17 innocent beings, students and teachers and physically injured 14, whilst leaving so many other emotionally, mentally, and physically wounded. 

Just a week prior, I, myself, a high schooler (I live in MA, US) was worried for my life because my high school had received a shooting threat to occur during an assembly. I had asked not to go to school, but had to because of tests and projects scheduled. 

The night that we had the threat released, I had packed things, wrote letters, and created so many fucking plans in my head. Because the fear and the reality of getting fucking shot at in school was so incredibly immense, I was so amazed when I made it home alive the next day. 

These kids did not.

At least 15 kids did not.   
They woke up, packed for school, got on the bus, went to class, and never fucking came home. 

Because they got murdered. At school. AT THE ONE SAFE PLACE. AT THE ONE PLACE ON EARTH KIDS SHOULD FEEL SAFE TO BE AT. AT THE PLACE THEY GO TO GET EDUCATED AND PREPARE FOR THEIR FUTURE.

There's no future for the left. 

I've never been so mad at the world in my life. 

I have never been so upset at something that didn't even affect me directly. 

IT'S JUST NOT FAIR OKAY? I AM SO UPSET AT EVERYONE AND I'M NOT SORRY ABOUT IT. NO ONE SHOULD EVER HAVE TO GO THROUGH SOMETHING LIKE THAT. 

They said Columbine would be the last.  
They said Sandy Hook would be the last.  
They said San Bernandino would be the last.

WHO'S GOING TO BE NEXT?

 

I am afraid of going to school.   
I am afraid of going to class and not coming home.   
I pray to god that my parents won't suffer if anything happened to me.

We shouldn't live in a world where STUDENTS ARE MAKING BACK UP PLANS, AND WRITING LETTERS TO THEIR FAMILIES JUST IN CASE. 

 

So that's where I am at right now. I don't know. I'm sad. I'm frustrated. I feel helpless. I feel not listened to. I just do not know. I gotta do something. We gotta do something guys.

 

I'm so sorry to go all caps on you guys. I love you guys. You guys are strangers on the internet, but I love you so much and hope the best for you and your life. 

I will try my best to update soon. Stay alive guys.


	13. Strawberry Blonde Hair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW! OKAY IF YOU'RE STILL HERE YOU A REAL OG. Anyways, thank you all for the endless support. I found myself buckled in the house these past few days because of school cancellations due to a nasty Nor'easter storm, so I buckled down a beat out a somewhat lengthy chapter. Hope this does you justice! Also, stay safe if you're out here in New England! : ) Ness xxxx

Stiles hasn’t been to school in two weeks. 

He’s missed so much already they’re gonna hold him back a year if he continues, the only thing helping him right now is the fact that he was in the top percentile of the class to start with. His father’s gotten him one of the best tutors in the county, but Stiles refuses to talk to anyone who’s name starts with an S, and unfortunately for Sarah, she was out of a job. (I wonder why.)

Truthfully, he’s been doing actually really well. Of course, the disease has just started, and it will inevitably get worse as it progresses, but for now, the medications are doing their job, and so is Stiles. After his initial diagnosis, Stiles was suffering from extreme psychosis and hallucinations. After his episode in his school, his intake of medication became regulated and he wasn’t suffering as much. His sleepless nights had turned into eleven hours of sleep a night because he would just be so incredibly tired, and his medicine had started to make him sick again, suffering from extremely painful bouts of nausea and increased anxiety. It wasn’t until recently when Stiles had voluntarily allowed his father to take him to the hospital to see what could be done, and just as it was getting better, McCall decided to start stopping by again. And from here, it would only get worse, and more frequent. More violent. More uncontrollable. 

Stiles is checking in at the hospital, as they requested before admitting him. After a tantrum in which he refused to be barefoot in fear of his footprints being traceable on the ground, his feet adorned blue liners over his socks as he stepped on the weight scale. He’s lost almost twenty pounds in the last month, refusing to eat anything because of the fear that it may have been contaminated, and will only accept it if his dad’s own hands made it. 

Dark circles and a prominent cheekbone replace what was once mole-adorned skin, the nightmares and delusions following in behind them. 

“My son’s not dangerous, Melissa.” Stiles could hear his father quietly speaking to the nurse in the hall, who had left the door open. He sat, appearing to be small, as he hunched in his shoulders and lowered his guards. His eyes were always squinted as the harsh white lights taunted him. Of course he knows what they’re talking about, he has for the last month or so. He knows he’s getting worse, as the seemingly never-ending amount of tests and MRIs had proven. Days had gone by where Stiles would just sit on the floor of his room and stare at the wall as if it were a TV. Bottles of medicine had been taken accordingly and had worked, but his therapy sessions resumed to be skipped. To be honest, he’s been doing pretty okay, besides from the not-sleeping, and the malnutrition, Stiles’ delusions had slowly decreased, despite his paranoia increased. Stiles just can’t help himself. “I’ve been sober for weeks, ever since. Cross my heart,” he heard his father swear to Melissa. Stiles sighed as he noticed a boy peering in from the window. 

Stiles jumped up, cautiously making his way to it as he shook his head at the boy standing outside. 

“Please!” The boy begged. “C’mon Stiles, let me in man! It’s so cold out here.”

Stiles cracked open the window, but not enough to let him in. “ _I’m not supposed to be seeing you Scott!_ ’ he warned, glancing back at the door to the hallway, “if my dad catches me talking to you I’ll get in trouble.” Regardless, the teen caved as he helped his best friend into the room. 

“Damn, you’re back in here man?” Scott asked in concern.

Stiles looked down in shame, “I didn’t want to take the meds. It started getting pretty bad. Beats being in freaking Eichen house though. I’ve been doing really good lately.”

“They wanted to send you there?” Scott’s eyes widened.

“My dad refused. Thank god, I would’ve been like a nun in Las Vegas.” Stiles chuckled light-heartedly.

“Dude you know who’s in Eichen?” Scott stopped for a second.

“Scott- no, no Scott-”

“Peter! I mean- dude this is the perfect opportunity, he’s the one who bit me!”

“Scott!” Stiles raised his voice, he start to chuckle before his face turned into a serious expression, reminding them of the melodrama they’re living in. “They said I was medically insane. You know how- how _heartbroken_ my dad was? How hard this entire thing has been on him? And I feel so guilty because I have no control over it!” 

“You’re not crazy.” Scott confessed.

“Scott– you’re _not_ real.” Stiles’s mouth came to a gape as he twitched his eye. 

The door opened, “Stiles?” His father called out. 

“Yeah?” He answered, and when he looked back to his buddy, Scott was no longer there. 

“Alright kiddo, the doctors want to see you.” Noah quietly suggested, “is everything okay?”

Stiles nodded. He felt his father’s hand on his shoulder, bringing a sense of comfort. “Dad?”

“Yeah son?”

“Don’t let them touch me please,” Stiles pleaded. 

“Okay kiddo, they’re just trying to help you. Trust me, their hands are clean.”

As the two were escorted into a room with Melissa, Stiles analyzed every room the passed by, noticing the amount of broken people who came in, needing to be fixed by some superficial means. Nothing of all the casts, sprains, and recoverers sparked his interests until he passed by a room with a girl and her mom. The girl seemed awfully recognizable, gorgeous strawberry blonde locks adorning her perfect, fair-skinned face. She was sitting on the bed as her mom held her hand. Stiles could hear the girl tell her mother, over and over, that she was fine. 

Then she turned, meeting her eyes with his.   
“Lydia?” He whispered, a little louder than preferred. Melissa and Noah gave Stiles a glare as he pounced. “Lydia!” He got closer to the room, literally scaring the shit out of the poor girl who looked back at him with a confused look. “Lydia– did Peter hurt you?!” He yelled in anger as he felt his father’s arm pull him back, “did he freaking touch you!?”

The mother got up frantically in attempt to shoo the frightening boy away. Natalie asked in a startling voice, “excuse me? Who’s Peter? Lydia–”

“Mom, I don’t-” The teenage girl was cut off.

“Lydia!” Natalie Martin waned her off.

“Stiles!” His father snarked at him, pulling him away, “I’m sorry he’s a little-”

“I’m a little what Dad?” Stiles froze, asking him the horrifying question as he made one hundred percent eye contact. “I’m what? _Medically insane? Schizophrenic? A freaking waste of human space? What is it dad? Do none of those descriptions satisfy you enough?_ ” Stiles absolutely broke. He pursed his lips in embarrassment after his little scene, walking away from everyone as he stuffed his hands into his sweatshirt pocket. Noah was appalled at what to say, and at what to do.

“Stiles honey,” Melissa followed after him as the Sheriff profusely apologize.

“I’m so sorry.. He’s.. going through a lot. I don’t even know- I apologize for the disturbance.” Noah’s face red and exasperated, an awkwardness lingering in the air. 

“It’s not a problem, Sheriff.” The woman gave him a weary smile. “Really, no worries at all,” she hesitated for a while before introducing herself, “Natalie. Natalie Martin.” 

“Noah. As you probably already know ‘er-” he recalled the labeling of sheriff she had given him. 

“Well, nice to finally meet the county sheriff.” He gave her an awkward smile again before bidding her adieu. As he turned his back to her, he let out a deep sigh, closing his eyes, praying that this is all one, incredibly cruel dream. 

Once behind closed doors, Natalie let out her own huff. “Dear god, do you even know that boy?” 

“I’ve never talked to him, Mom. He’s in a couple of my classes though, he’s a freak, had an actual mental breakdown during Harrison’s chem test.” Lydia explained as she sat up on the bed. 

Her mother tisked, shaking her head, “that’s a surprise. I heard through the grapevine that the sheriff’s son was supposed to be admitted to Eichen. Would probably do everyone a favor. Can’t imagine the burden his father is dealing with.”

“Mom his best friend died! God.” 

Natalie glared at her, “Melissa McCall’s son?” A sudden guilt and remorse expressing all over her.

“Uh- _yeah_ ,” She said all-matter-of-factingly. 

“So who’s Peter?”

“God if I know. I told you- I’ve never talked to this kid. Can we just go home? You’re so overreacting, I just passed out from dehydration.” Lydia complained, recalling Stiles’ face in school. He wasn’t really a quiet guy. She knew him, and she knew him well. He’s been in her classes ever since the second grade. Although, she’s never taken the time to actually acknowledge him, she knew he had a bunch of problems to deal with. The whole town knew about it when Claudia Stilinski died, and it definitely showed on Stiles. But compared to what she would’ve expected a person in grievance to be in, Stiles was completely different. He was loud, and rambunctious, and demanded to be noticed. He was an overly happy guy who tried his best to cheer up people when their down– she knew of course because she was once sick with the flu for a whole two weeks and he had written numerous “get well” cards, all with different hand-written poems in them. But now she sees him in school, all mopey and stressed and frustrated and rightfully so, he’s been through alot and he’s only sixteen. Lydia’s noticed his pining after her before, but she hasn’t noticed the fact that it’s recently stopped. Scott McCall’s death did a number on the kid. I mean, first his mother, and now his best friend? And his poor father’s gotta deal with all of it?

That night, Lydia was admitted to the hospital “just to be safe,” for overnight observation. She had randomly passed out in class earlier that day, and has gotten Beacon Hills High dubbed as the _teenage graveyard_. Despite the constant whirring of machines, and her mother asking her if she’s okay every five minutes, the only reason she hadn’t been able to fall asleep was because she couldn’t help think of what happened earlier that night. She wondered what had happened to Stiles.

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

“Stiles son. Talk to me.” The sheriff protested, watching his son reluctantly get into a hospital gown and into the bed. It was one in the morning, they were both tired, and just wanted to go home at this point. Stiles had been moved to the psychiatric ward of the hospital after being deemed _too imaginative for his own good._ It was the best Sheriff Stilinski could do that wasn’t sending him to suicide in Eichen House. 

The boy sat silent, before resorting to playing a mindless game on his phone. 

“Mieczyslaw Stilinski, I swear to God and all that is mighty-” his father threatened. 

“I saw Scott today. I was doing really good, Dad.” 

**Stupid. You’re a liar. LIar, lIaR, LIAr, LIAR. You aren’t GOOD, I’m NOT GOOD. WE AREN’t GOOD.**

Noah stopped before nodding his head. His hand wrapped around his son’s, praying once again that some of his strength carried into Stiles. “It’s progress son.”

That night, Stiles and his father were up for almost all hours of the night, considering Noah couldn’t bare leaving Stiles alone by himself. All they really got done was another freaking psychic evaluation, because _that really helps_.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––  
“Mom. Mom, I’m kinda cramping-” Lydia whispered in the middle of the night, who’s hand was being tormented by her mother’s tha grasped it tightly. 

“What? Honey are you okay? Do you want me to call a nurse? I’ll get a nurse–” Natalia frantically worried before being interrupted by her daughter. 

“No- no I’m fine, really, I just need to walk around for a few minutes.”

“Okay honey, I’ll come with–”

“No!” Lydia snarked, being met with furrowed brows and an offended expression from her mother. “I mean– no that’s fine, you’re tired.. Besides I like the alone time.” 

Natalie nodded, watching the strawberry blonde leave the room and carry down the halls that were half lit with the fluorescent lighting. She took a glance at every hospital room she passed. Lydia was looking for something- but she didn’t know what. Lydia walked for a few minutes around the corridors, looping up and down before something caught her eye. 

A loud, piercing, agonizing scream was heard. 

_“Stiles! It’s okay! You’re okay! Shhh it’s okay! It’s okay–”_ The lights of the room blinked on. 

The painful shriek rang through Lydia’s ears, causing her to wince as she mentally felt for the sufferer. 

“Stiles it’s okay, it’s okay kiddo– you’re okay.” She heard a man comfortingly say, a few gasps came into her hearing stream as well, as if someone were struggling to breath. She peered through the sides of the entrance stealthily, watching the father wrap his arms around his son who was thrashing around in fear. The girl concluded he must have been having some sort of nightmare. 

“NO- no- he’s here! _Dad, he’s gonna hurt you!_ ” Stiles yelled out against his father, “you have to tell Derek!”

“Derek who?” The sheriff froze. “Stiles who?”

“Derek Hale,” he whispered, managing to catch his breath. 

Hale. Hale. Hale, Hale, HALE, _HALE_. 

_You’re SO STUPID! THEY’RE GONNA HURT YOU AND HIM NOW. ___

__“Make it stop! Make it stop!” Stiles was sobbing as he cried, the monitors beeping as they caught his increased heart rate._ _

__“Stiles relax! I’m here- no one’s going to hurt you!”_ _

__“I can’t hear you!” He clamped his hands down on the sides of his head as he curled up into a fetal position, as close as he possibly could._ _

___HE’S COMING YOU FUCKING IGNORANT BOY. HE’S COMING AND IT’S YOUR FAULT._ _ _

__A team of nurses and a doctor pushed Lydia out of the way, who noted that it wasn’t Nurse McCall nor was it Doctor Dunbar. She felt her eyes water as she watched Stiles, a boy she had never cared to notice before, _totally lose it_. _ _

__Stiles protectively threw himself over his father as he shouted out without any fear, “don’t touch him!”_ _

__The medical staff backed off, assuring him that they were only trying to help him relax, as did his father.  
What they didn’t know was that Stiles had seen the kanima, with its digustinyl long tail, and its vicious, poisonous teeth, and its scaly monstrosity excuse of a creature, sneak into the room. Stiles lunged at one of the nurses, mistaking him for said beast before Sheriff Stilinski held his boy back roughly. _ _

__“Stiles!” Noah yelled in a whisper, “I need you to relax.”_ _

__The doctor signaled for the nurse to leave, noticing he was some sort of trigger to the teenager._ _

__Lydia winced and gasped, feeling a bony pricking into the forearm as her mother grabbed her away. “Lydia! Stay away from that boy!” She scorned at her as Sheriff Stilinski _definitely noticed the young lady_. “I heard screaming and thought the worst!– You know how scared I was?” Lydia was frozen as she was pulled into a hug with her mother. It was so incredibly hard to watch Stiles lose control of his surroundings, and having to listen to what his head was telling him was there, when in reality it was never. _ _

__“Just like that, just like that kiddo..” Noah comforted him once again, holding him in that position as he chest rapidly raised until he lowered himself onto the ground. The teenager sat on the floor, laying against his father as if it were rehearsed. It wasn’t. Just something they’ve been going through for a while._ _

__“Mr. Evans, could you please get Stiles his regularly dosed prescription and a cup of water?” The doctor voiced, asking Noah if Stiles had been keeping up with his meds since he’s been admitted._ _

__Stiles forced his legs to push himself up, realizing that no one was in danger or a threat. He feels weak, physically and mentally. He knows things aren’t real, he knows it’s just his fucking head. It’s just getting harder to distinguish between reality and his imagination._ _

__“Stiles kiddo, you’re whispering to yourself again.” Noah brushed his thumb up above Stiles’ eyebrow as he sat up in the hospital bed. He had been mumbling himself to keep him safe from intruders, as if he were wishing for a circle of dark mountain ash to suddenly appear next to him._ _

___Stupid. You’re stupid. You need help. Stupid StUpiD STuPID STUPID._ _ _

___You’re faking. FAKE. WHY are YOU pRETENDING? ARE YOU CRAZY? YOU’RE CRAZY._ _ _

__“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He repeated three times hazily. “Dad you gotta close the shades.”_ _

__“Ok son, I got it. I’ll close them right now.”_ _

__Somewhere down the hall, lay a heartbroken Lydia Martin, who had never cared for this kid in her life._ _


End file.
